


Sanctuary

by sheankelor



Series: Sanctuary [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Religious Content, The Troubles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7292632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheankelor/pseuds/sheankelor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus was raised Roman Catholic by his mother. As he laid dying in the Shrieking Shack, he portkeys to Father Patrick McKinney's for his Last Rites. Can Patrick keep his friend alive? Can Severus claim Sanctuary if he does survive? Will the British Ministry of Magic accept the claim?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rites

**Author's Note:**

> First, I have to give my utmost thanks to SuNoYu for taking this one under her wing - it really needed her. Second off, I am warning you that this has a lot, and I mean a lot, of religious overtones. Oh, and The Troubles (Irish Independence/Northern Ireland Issue/Whatever name you know it as) came in because it was pointed out to me that this is taking place in Ireland during the time period of The Troubles - they need to be there as well.
> 
> This tale was inspired by multiple sources and I hope it is enjoyed by at least a few.

 

Severus stared into those bright green eyes and prayed with his entire heart that the Lord would somehow allow this boy to live no matter what Dumbledore said. He could not say those words – he couldn’t order Lily’s child to let himself be killed. Instead, he let Albus do so through the memories he gave him. As his final parting gift – the only true gift he could think the boy would accept – he included memories of Lily with the necessary ones. Even the conclusion of the memory the boy had pried into two years ago.

 

His vision began to fade as the boy fled the shack, and his hand sought a button, the one closest to his wand. Every article of clothing he owned had one button made into an emergency portkey, all of them taking him to the same place. Brushing it, he breathed out one word, “Sanctuary.”

 

§§§§§§§

 

Father Patrick McKinney jumped at the crashing sound in his kitchen. Grabbing his wand off his nightstand, he flung his scapular over the habit that he was slept in. During these troubled times one never knew when he was going to be called upon, and he preferred to be paraded before all God’s people at least in his habit. Rushing out of the small room, he hoped that all he needed to do was offer sanctuary to some poor soul and that the evil chasing him would agree to it.

 

‘ _Severus?’_ That thought almost brought his feet to a halt. Could he face his friend taking his last breath? For that was the only reason Severus would appear in his kitchen close to two in the morning. Snatching his emergency portkey off the kitchen counter as he entered, he flew across the room to the black form collapsed on the floor. Grabbing a tea towel, he dropped to his knees, pressed it to Severus’ neck, hoping that he was applying just the right amount of pressure, draped himself over Severus holding on as tight as he could, and activated his portkey.

 

They fell to the cold stone floor, and the smell of antiseptic cleaners penetrating Patrick’s nose. He sat up while still holding the towel tightly against Severus’ neck. Closing his eyes, he shut his grief in a small corner in the back of his mind. He had a task that had to be completed, one that Severus came to him for. Latching onto words said far to often in these troubled times, he began to administer Severus’ Last Rites.

 

“The grace and peace of God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ be with you.” He bit back a sob as he paused for the habitual response that wouldn’t come this time. He could hear Severus’ voice in his head rejoin _‘And also with you.’_

 

Moving forward, Severus knew what he was there for, Patrick ran the standard Gospel verses used through his mind, and chose the Gospel of Matthew as a fitting one to use. “Come to me, all you who labour and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”

 

The yoke Severus had carried for so long was about to be lifted, especially if the monk who was supposed to be monitoring the Infirmary didn’t get there soon. Patrick was certain that the new yoke God had in store for him would be easier, at least he hoped.

 

Lifting his eyes from Severus’ pale face, he looked about the Infirmary, hoping to see some tell-tale sign of where the monk was. Seeing no one, he shifted his position so he could search Severus’ robes for a Blood Replenisher and keep the pressure on his wound at the same time. He was positive his friend would have one on him.

 

“Severus, open your eyes. Please.” His words were torn out of him as he pulled vial after vial out of the robes.

 

The eyelids fluttered, but there no evidence of consciousness.

 

“Father McKinney!”

 

Patrick’s head shot up, his eyes wide with hope. “Brother Ignatius! Help, please.”

 

Ignatius dropped to Severus’ other side, his wand in his hand and his eyes searching the patient’s face. His voice was hard as he asked, “You know who this is, don’t you?”

 

Patrick snarled at the cold tone. “Yes, I know who this is. I also know he is a loyal member of my flock, one who is trusting me to help him.”

 

Disbelieving blue eyes clashed with angry hazel.

 

“After all he and his ilk have done?” The blue eyes demanded answers backing up his questioning tone.

 

His own hazel eyes demanded Ignatius set aside his anger – an anger Patrick had never seen when the man dealt with other patients who were equally guilty of harming others. “Only God shall pass judgement. It is our place to care for all who are His children.”

 

Patrick scooped up a vial he thought might be the Blood Replenisher – potions were not his forté. Using his teeth, he began to pry the stopper out, hoping it was truly what Severus needed. If nothing else, a Blood Replenisher might buy him enough time to complete the Rites.

 

The vial was quickly taken from him. Ignatius looked at the contents and then back at Patrick, his anger no longer evident. “Blood Replenisher?”

 

Patrick nodded to the towel he was still holding in place. It was sodden, blood staining his hand. “I think he needs it.”

 

Ignatius opened the vial and coaxed Severus to drink half of it. “Let’s get him onto a bed, the floor’s cold and that won’t help with his condition.”  He levitated the vials onto a side table before repeating the same spell on Severus, placing him safely on a bed. “Do you know what happened to him?”

 

Patrick shook his head. “When he portkeyed into my kitchen, he had two large puncture wounds in the side of his neck. I covered them and brought him here.”

 

Puzzled blue eyes searched him before turning back to Severus. “Move the towel, I need to see the wounds.”

 

“Do you have a Viaticum and some chrism here?” asked Patrick as he slowly lifted the towel. “I rushed out and left mine.”

 

Ignatius nodded absent-mindedly as he stared at the gapping holes. “I’ll bring them to you.” He gestured to Severus’ neck. “It looks like a snake bite. I’ve never seen one that large before, though.”

 

“Nagini,” snarled Patrick as he covered them back up, gently applying pressure again. “One of those vials might contain the antivenin. I know he made some, I just don’t know if he carried it with him.”

 

“I’ll check them after I bring you the other items you asked for.” The monk crossed the room and picked up a small tray off the shelf on the far wall. Setting it on the small table, after gently nudging a few of the vials aside to make room for them, he then picked up Severus’ wrist. “His pulse is thready, you should do the Rite for Emergencies.”

 

As Patrick reached his hand over Severus’ head, the black eyes fluttered open and the throat under his other hand convulsed.

 

“Patrick,” Severus’ voice was soft, barely a whisper.

 

“I’m here, Severus.” Patrick fought the tears gathering in his eyes as a small smile curled those thin lips.

 

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been one month since I have been to confession.”

 

The rushed words were barely a whisper, but the effect was immediate. Patrick felt the Seal of Confession closed around both of them. Nothing said from this point until the end of the Rite of Reconciliation would be heard by anyone else – ever.

 

Severus continued to speak, hardly pausing for the Seal resonate. “More of my students were tortured by the Carrows.”

 

“Keep it general Severus, I don’t know...” Patrick trailed off, an unbidden tear trailing down one cheek.

 

“The worst then, though all are bad. I sent Potter to die. I gave him the memory of Albus telling me he had to. I gave him a lot of memories: those of my role as a spy, proof that I still was one; some of his mother when she was younger; Albus’ instructions.”  Black eyes searched Patrick’s face as if looking for the accusation that would never appear. “I killed him.”

 

Patrick shook his head in denial that Severus murdered Potter, but knew that it would take months, if not years, to convince the man otherwise. Time he hoped and prayed he would have, but doubted. “Do you truly regret all your sins?”

 

At Severus’ narrowing eyes, he knew that his friend was displeased with being rushed, but he whispered, “I am sorry for these and all of my many sins.”

 

Even as Severus began whispering the Act of Contrition, Patrick extended his hand over Severus’ head and clearly intoned his prayer. The two intermingled, his Latin weaving counterpoint to Severus’ English.

 

“God, I am heartily sorry for having offended You, and I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell; but most of all because they offend You, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of Your grace to confess my sins, do penance, and to amend my life. Amen.”

 

“Deus, Pater misericordiárum, qui per mortem et resurrectiónem Fílii sui mundum sibi reconciliávit et Spíritum Sanctum effúdit in remissiónem peccatórum, per ministérium Ecclésiæ indulgéntiam tibi tríbuat et pacem. Etego te absólvo a peccátis tuis in nómine Patris et Fílii + et Spíritus Sancti.” (1)

 

The Seal of Confession fell, allowing sound to enter their small section of the Infirmary.

 

Ignatius held out a vial towards them, relief evident on his face. “Have him drink half of this. I’ll have the Viaticum ready.”

 

Patrick accepted the vial, slipped his bloody hand behind Severus’ head to prop it up, and pressed the glass rim to his lips. “Drink, Brother Ignatius wouldn’t poison you, and it is your own creation.”

 

Severus dutifully obeys, stopping when he had drunk half of the antivenin. As he did so, Patrick prayed the Apostolic Pardon just in case Severus didn’t survive. He didn’t want the stain of those sins to coat his friend’s soul. His words mix with Ignatius’ Eucharistic prayers.

 

“Per sancrosáncta humánæ reparatiónis mystéria, remíttat tibi omnípotens Deus omnes præséntis et futúræ vitæ pœnas, paradísi portas apériat et ad gáudia te sempitérna perdúcat.” (2)

 

Ignatius’ quietly murmured _‘Amen’_ had Severus doing the same once he had swallowed. The monk then exchanged the vial for the small wafer that held so much importance. Patrick held it up before Severus’ eyes in his non-bloodied hand and reverently said, “Corpus Christi.”

 

Black eyes were trained completely on the Blessed Sacrament. Severus swallowed convulsively before he answered strongly. “Amen.”

 

As Patrick placed it on his tongue, a sense of relief filled him. Nothing could keep Severus from meeting their Father now. “Ipse te custódiat et perdúcat in vitam ætérnam.” (3)

 

Severus’ eyes fluttered shut as he swallowed once again. His breathing evened out as he drifted off to sleep.

 

“Let us ask the Lord to come our brother Severus Snape with His merciful love, and grant him relief through this holy anointing. In faith, we pray.”

 

“Lord hear our prayer,” Patrick responded before his brain realized that Ignatius had moved onto the Anointing. It took watching the monk pour a bit of chrism onto the pale face and draw a cross through it for it to sink in.

 

In a clear voice, Ignatius prayed, “Per istam sanctam Unctiónem et suam piíssimam misericórdiam, ádiuvet te Dóminus grátia Spíritus Sancti.” (4)

 

“Amen,” whispered Patrick before he coated his own fingers with the chrism. Touching the hand next to him, he noticed Ignatius touch Severus’ other one.

 

In unison, they made a cross as they spoke, “Ut a peccátis liberátum te salvet atque propítius állevet. Amen.” (5)

 

Drawing a steadying breath, knowing he was nearing the end, Patrick continued. “Father, You readily take into account every stirring of good will, and You never refuse to pardon the sins of those who seek Your forgiveness.

 

“Have mercy now on Your servant Severus Snape” his voice quavered as he said the name, “Who has now entered the struggle of his final agony. May this holy anointing and our prayer of faith comfort and aid him in body and soul. Forgive all his sins and protect him with Your loving care.

 

“We ask this, Father, through your Son Jesus Christ, because he has won the victory over death, opened the way to eternal life and now lives and reigns with you for ever and ever.”

 

He closed his eyes as Ignatius’ _‘Amen’_ sounded softly from the other side of the bed. They both then raised their right hand and made the sign of the cross while reciting the Benediction. “Benedíctio Dei omnipoténtis, Patris + et Fílii et Spíritus Sancti, descéndat super vos, et máneat semper.” (6)

 

Sinking down, Patrick would have ended up on the floor if Ignatius hadn’t summoned a chair.

 

“You can leave him here, Patrick. I will keep him safe.”

 

Patrick shook his head. “I will stay and keep vigil. It is the only thing left I can do for him.”

 

“Your parish?” Ignatius summoned a blanket and draped it over Severus.

 

Patrick watched as the monk left Severus’ shoes on – clear indication that he did not think the man would survive until dawn. “There is nothing on my schedule today.”

 

A second blanket was summoned and offered to him. “There is a water bowl and jug under the side table and clean cloths. I’ll be back with a bandage and some salve for the bruising.”

 

“Thank you, Ignatius.” Patrick set his blanket in his chair before spelling water into the jug. Pouring a little into the bowl, he used the cloths to clean up his friend. He was done by time Ignatius was back. Once the wound was treated and wrapped, he settled into the chair, his eyes trained on Severus’ face, and began to pray.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Last Rite was taken from the text on iBreviary
> 
> Latin Translations:
> 
> 1) God, the Father of mercies, through the death and reconciliation of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, + and of the Holy Spirit.
> 
> 2) Through the holy mysteries of our redemption, may almighty God release you from all punishments in this life and in the life to come. May he open to you the gates of paradise and welcome you to everlasting joy.
> 
> 3) May the Lord Jesus Christ protect you and lead you to eternal life.
> 
> 4) Through this holy anointing may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit.
> 
> 5) May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up.
> 
> 6) May the blessing of almighty God, the Father, and the Son, + and the Holy Spirit, come upon you and remain with you forever.


	2. Years of Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SuNoYu suggested a note to let you know the Liturgy of the Hours since almost all the times in this chapter hinge on these instead of telling you the o'clock.
> 
> Matins (Readings) - During the Night; Lauds (Morning Prayer) -Sunrise; Prime - First Hour of the Day; Terce (Mid-morning Prayer) -Third Hour of the Day; Sext (Midday Prayer) -Sixth Hour of the Day; None (Mid-afternoon Prayer) - Ninth Hour of the Day; Vespers (Evening Prayer) -As evening approaches; Compline (Night Prayer) - the hour before sleep

Three o'clock came and Patrick's mind continued to bounce from sending hopeful prayers for Severus' life to hopeful prayers for his afterlife. The low burning lantern was the only light in the room, making it hard to see if the pale face was any more waxen, but the rise and fall of Severus' chest assured him that his friend was still among the living.

As sleep weighted his eyes, Patrick was struck by the similarities of this night and one almost seventeen years ago, along with the obvious differences. At least on that night, Severus was able to leave of his own accord

§§§Memory Lane§§§

_A loud crack resounded through the rectory, causing Patrick to drop to the floor, his hand clenching spasmodically around the hilt of his wand. Fear, thick and all the worse for being known, roiled through him. He listened hard for the shouts and screams that should follow, the sound of crumbling buildings, breaking glass, and the destruction of his small home. Nothing came. Garnering up the resolve that came from spending his childhood in the war zones in Northern Ireland, he peeked out his window, barely twitching the curtain. Scanning the darkening streets, the sun set early during the winter months, he barely spotted a shadow hesitating near the church gate. It was inky black – slightly darker than the dusk-hued sky around it – except for its face and hands. They were as white as snow._ 'Death Eater then. A new one to hunt us.'

_Memories of history lessons rushed through his mind, ones that had been reinforced by the Bloody Sunday Massacre in Londonderry. He remembered being glad that his family had moved to the outskirts of Belfast in December of seventy-one just a month before Bloody Sunday, a joy that had faded soon afterwards. At that time he had been dreadfully afraid that at least the Wizarding World would take the Massacre of seventy-two as permission to hunt the Celts as they had done under the rule of Elizabeth I. That fear had proved ungrounded, but the skirmishes, the traps, the ambushes … they had left their mark. One that had caused him to accept a small Wizarding village in the middle of the Republic of Ireland as his parish when he was offered one this year. Here he hadn't faced the constant fear of attacks, of walking through streets and praying that no one would be blown up, or shot, or cursed. He had heard of Death Eaters, but they seemed to be mainly concentrating on the British Wizarding Community, and now one stood outside his gate._

_Letting go of the curtain, he walked to his front door his wand firmly in his grasp. Yes, the grounds of the church were sanctified, but this man was part of an organization that might defile that sanctity. Knowing he would only use defence spells, he walked out onto the front porch, his eyes searching the gathering gloom. He spotted the patch of white near the church's door. Something about the man, he was sure it was a man, felt different than he had expected. There was no feeling of threat. No, the feeling that he perceived was of someone fearful, someone lost and uncertain. Maintaining his grasp on his wand and keeping it in a defensive position, he walked towards the church and the Death Eater. His feet crunched on the path, causing the night air to seem to ripple as the man spun about. He was now close enough to see the pale patch was a face not a mask. "Greetings. What brings you to Saint Mary's?"_

_The man's head turn slightly as if he was contemplating the church before facing him again. Patrick prompted again, "Is there a way I can be of service to you?"_

_The face dropped and was masked by a flow of either hair or a hood before he could pick out any truly distinguishable characteristics. A voice, soft and young, answered him._

" _I... I don't know. The priest," There was a pause before he continued, "Do you know where he is?"_

" _I'm Father McKinney, the pastor of this church." Patrick watched the man disappeared in the now black sky – night had fallen. Tensing, part of him was still expecting a wand to be drawn against him, he waited while praying that nothing horrible would happen tonight. White hands, ones that he had noticed earlier, appeared out of the folds of darkness and the man straightened up. A feeling of resolve collected in the air about them._

" _Father, I am not here to cause any harm, please lower your wand." The words were enunciated clearly, as one who was trying their best to be understood._

_Instead of lowering his wand, Patrick raised it. "Lumos." Light bloomed around them, showing him his shadowed guest. It was a man, not much younger than him, dressed in voluminous black robes and black hair hanging to his shoulders. Dark eyes peered at him, squinting a bit in the sudden light. "Now that we can see each other, how can I aid you?"_

_The young man pressed his lips together, a haunted uncertain look filling his face. The words, when they came, flew out of him. "Penance. I need to go to confession. Even if He won't forgive me – I_ know _He won't – but I need to ask."_

_The certainty that he was facing a Death Eater came back full force. A small part of him wanted to say that was outside of the scheduled hours, that the young man should come back in the morning after Lauds – the morning prayer at sunrise. He hushed that part and walked towards the church doors. "He will always forgive. The day He died on the cross He carried with Him all our sins – everyone from the beginning of time to the end of time. He was the ultimate and last sacrifice – one that granted us forgiveness."_

_The dark head shook side to side as he followed Patrick to the confessional. "That was almost two thousand years ago, how can He have already forgiven_ my _transgressions?"_

_Patrick stopped next to the confessional. "Because the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are all one and the same. They are the Trinity – I am – Yahweh – take your choice in what you call Him, but He is an entity so big that we've split Him up just to make Him understandable to our minds. He is the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End … time has no meaning to Him. He knows you, He knew you before the day you were born, He knows what you have faced and what choices you will have to decide between. He knows the yoke you carry and will walk with you to help you bear it. It is just the way it is."_

_Gesturing the young man into the small cubical, he slipped into the other side. He knew the information he just dumped on the man was a lot and hard to digest – most of it you had to believe based on faith, and he wasn't quite sure how strong Shadow's faith was. He spoke the Benediction, and then waited to see if Shadow would need prompting._

" _Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been ten years since my last confession."_

_The familiar feel of the Seal of Confession settled around him. The start from the other side of the screen made him wonder if Shadow had ever been to a wizard priest before. His magic made the Seal a true physical thing._

§§§§§§

Patrick let a small smile curl his lips. That confession, one he had originally thought would be a gloss over the years had been the one to convince him he was dealing with a detailed oriented person with a very good memory. By the end of it, he knew more about the politics in the House of Slytherin than anyone would ever want to know unless they were a member, he also had a fair idea of how the Dark Lord – a title he acquired using after all his talks with Severus – and his Death Eaters worked. He also knew of a prophecy that gave him hope, and just what position Severus held in both camps. Assigning the prayers and ways of showing remorse were hard to accomplish because of him being a spy. It was an issue that remained but over the years he and Severus had come up with some very interesting methods.

He stood up and stretched before walking the few steps to Severus' bedside. This close he was able to see a slight flush to his cheeks, and the paleness of his lips was faded. _'Maybe, my friend, maybe God has more plans for you.'_ Pushing a strand of hair out of the oil it was sticking to, he caught the furtive movements of Severus' eyes under his lids. He cast a quick prayer Heavenwards that they were good dreams. A mutter, one that sounded almost like the Lord's Prayer, made Patrick think maybe his prayers were being answered.

§§§Memory Lane§§§

_Severus sat in the back of the church. It was barely seven o'clock on Sunday, but the small sanctuary was over half full. Just being there he could feel peace and rightness of it filling him. As part of his Penance, Father McKinney had told him to attend Sunday Service and to keep the Commandments as his position allowed._ 'As best as I can, eh? How is a spy not to bear false witness against his neighbour?' _He heaved a mental sigh._ 'I've got to try. I'm Slytherin enough to figure a way around.' _Focusing back up front, he listened to the readings. He was fairly certain the Irish priest had not expected him to appear back at Saint Mary's to fulfil his obligations, but he felt more welcomed here than anywhere else._

_Before Hogwarts, his mum would take him to Mass every Sunday. He distinctly remembered being looked down upon because of his religion, but Mum wouldn't have it any other way. She was proud that the Prince family line was one of the few wizarding lines to escape Henry VIII's mandate to join the Church of England. He wasn't sure which other ones succeeded in keeping to the religion of their birth and choice, but he never heard another Slytherin mention Mass or any other definitive clue. That was one of the reasons he stopped practising his religion when he started Hogwarts. Even during the summer, Da had helped him get out of attending – he was Agnostic and didn't care one way or another, but he did allow Severus the choice. Then Severus was neck deep in sin and the Death Eaters before he realized that what he was searching for wasn't found at the Dark Lord's feet. No, what he wanted was found at the foot of the Cross, but by then he had believed he was so stained that even He couldn't accept what Severus had become, and certainly could never forgive it. That all changed when Dumbledore extended him a second chance, albeit with strings attached. If the Headmaster could do that, then surely God could. He would accept whatever God threw at him as long as he could once again feel the peace he had enjoyed sitting in church with his mum._

_Standing, he listened to the Gospel, letting the words still his roving thoughts. The familiarity of the words spoken in an unfamiliar accent lulled him to a peaceful place. He knew what was to happen next – the homily and then they would start the Liturgy of the Eucharist. It was like stepping onto a loved, worn path. One you knew each step, each turn, but the scenery changed slightly, making it new and interesting still._

_As the final hymn was sung, Severus slipped out the door, hoping to escape the notice of the priest. As comfortable as he was at this church, he didn't wish to talk to someone who knew so much about him. His luck was the same as always. Father McKinney waved at a few old men before walking to him._

" _You came here?" Father McKinney shook his head. "Sorry, horrible greeting. Welcome back to Saint Mary's, …." An embarrassed look came over his face as he whispered. "I never asked your name."_

_Holding back a sigh, Severus offered his hand. "Severus Snape, sir."_

_Father McKinney beamed and shook his hand. "Mr Snape, thank you for coming this morning."_

" _You're welcome, the service was good." Severus stepped back slightly, preparing to flee the moment he had a chance._

_Understanding filled the hazel eyes looking at him, and Father McKinney gave him a gentle smile. "Thank you. I do hope to see you next Sunday." With that, he walked back to talk to the men he had waved at earlier._

_There was blur of other Sundays, of other meetings with Patrick, learning the priest's patience, his quick wit, and understanding nature. Gospels turned into homilies which faded into conversations._

" _Good morning, Mr Snape." Father McKinney's voice startled Severus back to full alertness. "It's early, what do I owe this pleasure to?"_

_Severus smiled at the priest. Over the past few months he had made it a practice to attend this church, and every Sunday Father would greet him and then let him slip away. His smile faded as the reason for his visit filled his mind again. "I need … I am sorry, I don't know your hours, but I need..." His eyes darted towards the church door and he could feel Father studying him. Then the man walked up the stairs past him and opened the church door._

" _For you the hours are now." Father McKinney ushered him into the church and once again led the way to the confessional._

_A sigh of relief left Severus' lips as he stepped into the small cubical. Listening to the Benediction, he felt a fragment of peace invade his troubled heart. He would be listened to and forgiven. One person would know the full truth of what happened on that raid, and God would know how remorseful he truly was._

§§§§§§

Patrick watched as the sun touched the windows, brightening the room before shifting to Ignatius crossing the room, the monk's eyes automatically darting the still form on the bed. "He's still breathing."

Ignatius' steps faltered for just a second, then he rushed over to his patient. "Let's see if we can get him to drink the other half of both potions."

McKinney picked them up off the table and offered one to Ignatius. "Should we clean the wound again?"

Shaking his head no, Ignatius gently lifted Severus' head and pressed the Blood Replenisher to his lips. "Come on, lad, drink it up. It's the best thing for you."

The pale lips cracked open and let the potion slip through. Patrick quickly gave him the antivenin while Severus was swallowing. A summoned cup of water was also offered, and when Severus finished it, Ignatius set the empty cup on the side table before he lowed Severus' head back onto the pillow. "Come, Father McKinney, he will be fine without you for an hour. Join us for Lauds."

Patrick flipped the blanket's bottom edge up. "Once I take his shoes off. He can't be comfortable sleeping in them." His heart lifted slightly when the monk helped.

"We can change his clothes when we get back," Patrick smiled at the exasperated look Ignatius threw him.

"And you can get some sleep. I'll let the Abbot know about our guest after Terce."

Patrick was surprised, but wasn't going to argue that Ignatius was going to wait until after the mid-morning prayers. As the morning prayers progressed, Patrick gave thanks for Severus' continual survival, and prayed that this would lead to a new start for the Potions Master. Upon returning to the Infirmary, he settled back onto the chair he had occupied for the last several hours. He shot back to his feet when he noticed black eyes watching him.

"Severus!" Patrick leant over his bed, smiling broadly. He heard Ignatius' gasp of surprise, and then felt the monk push him gently to one side.

"The antivenin, can you take a painkiller with it?" Ignatius wrapped his fingers about a thin wrist as he watched for any sign of an answer.

"Yes," whispered Severus. Ignatius gently released him and headed for the potions cabinet as Severus shifted his attention to Patrick. "You … you should … your parish …"

"I'll go back in a bit. There's no one needing me right now." He knew he was right since Severus had taught him those alert wards to put on his doors.

"Drink this." A small vial was pressed against Severus' lips. "It should help the pain, and don't talk too much, those muscles need to rest to heal."

Severus swallowed dutifully.

"Before you go back to sleep, let's get you more comfortable." Patrick began undoing the buttons on Severus' clothes. "I'll clean these up for you, but until then, you can wear one of the Infirmary's nightshirts."

With Ignatius' help, he divested Severus of his clothes and helped him into a soft cotton shirt. "Settle down and rest. The world will keep for now."

Eyelids slowly covered dark eyes as Severus drifted back to sleep. Patrick folded Severus' clothes and set them next to the bed as Ignatius tucked the covers over his patient. He knew he owed the older monk an explanation and the man had been waiting patiently. Gesturing Ignatius to the other side of the room, he sat on the edge of another bed. "Ask." He nodded towards Severus' bed. "I will answer what I can."

"First, I am sorry." Ignatius held up a hand to stop Patrick's dismissal of his apology. "I have served as a healer for many years, treated people on all sides of a conflict equally. I shouldn't have baulked where I was needed. We are all His children; therefore, all of us deserve His help." He sank onto the edge of the bed next to Patrick's. "Now, how did a Death Eater – one of You-Know-Who's top-ranked men – become a member of your parish?"

"It was near the beginning of the year the Potters died. He Apparated to the church just after sunset. He … he asked to go to confession. I couldn't refuse him. Next Sunday he was in the pews for my early morning Mass. He's been a regular since then. About six months later, he was coming to confession every two weeks, which became every week. He taught at Hogwarts, so he would leave Sunday morning early, come to confession, and then attend Mass. During the summer and holidays he would stay around to visit."

"How did your village take the news that he was an active Death Eater? His name was splashed over all the papers last summer."

"Most are holding out to hear what he says. There've been too many smear campaigns and cover-ups for them to believe the paper." Patrick knew Ignatius would understand he was talking not only about the Wizarding War, but the Troubles as well. "They remember that he was once credited as a spy, and are wondering if he still is. It helps that all year he's been asking for prayers for the children and professors, and he lights three candles before Mass at the foot of Mary's statue."

Patrick knew those candles were lit as special prayers for Potter and his two friends, ones hoping that they would succeed and make it through. The Sundays Severus did not make it, he lit four candles. Three for Severus' prayers and one for his own prayer for Severus' safety. He was slightly curious what Ignatius thought the three candles were for but didn't ask.

"He hasn't asked for Sanctuary yet, but if he survives and the British Ministry comes calling for him, I think he should," Ignatius smiled lightly. "He … I don't know what to believe. The news, it's grim. My sister's children have told me stories of him for years – they went to Hogwarts. The papers are not helping now. They paint him with the blackest brush." He frowned suddenly. "He killed Albus Dumbledore."

Patrick flinched, wishing with all his might he could tell all the planning that went on with that action. He truly hoped that Potter would tell the world, as he was the only one who could – the Seal made sure of that. "But the sternest of professors might be the best one, the one with your interest closest to their heart. They just might not know how to properly show it."

Ignatius snorted while nodding in agreement. "That doesn't explain him killing the previous Headmaster."

"I ..." Patrick swallowed hard, sweat popping out on his face as his hands trembled, letting him know his intended statement was too close to the Seal. "He …." his throat spasmed as his mouth snapped shut.

Blue eyes widened in alarm. "Stop! It doesn't matter." A quiet sigh of relief left Ignatius' lips as he noticed Patrick was breathing again. "You have reasons to believe in him, and it is obvious they are locked behind the Seal."

Patrick snorted and glared at the still figure across the room. "Everything of importance is locked behind the Seal, he made sure of it."

Ignatius looked from Snape to Patrick. "You trust him?"

"With the soul of every man, women, and child in my parish. With everyone here at the Abbey."

Ignatius nodded slowly, his eyes searching Patrick's face before switching his attention back to Snape. "I'll do my best for him, but he still may not make it. That he woke up briefly is a good sign, his mind is still functioning, but he can rapidly deteriorate. Get some rest, and then head home. He's worried you are not there, and that will affect his healing."

"I'll rest in the chair near his bed. Let me know if he turns for the worst, please. He deserves a friend at his side …"

"I'll summon you."

Sighing with relief, Patrick settled onto the wooden chair only to have it transfigured under him into a soft wing-backed arm chair. A quick look showed Ignatius putting his wand away.

"I'll wake you when it is time." Ignatius left the room as quietly as he had entered earlier.

Closing his eyes, Patrick drifted off hoping that Severus would have pleasant dreams.

Severus shifted into a more comfortable position, causing the sheets to rustle as they untucked.

§§§Memory Lane§§§

_Severus settled onto the wooden pew in the spot that had over the year become his. It was the first Sunday of the Christmas Holidays and Severus couldn't think of another place he would rather spend it. He made a mental note to check with Father McKinney about the Christmas Mass schedule as the old wizard who typically sat near him smiled at him. His returned smile shocked him – he had thought he would never be able to smile again after Lily's death – but at the same time, it felt right. Turning his attention to the alter, he continues the prayers Father McKinney had assigned him not twenty minutes ago._

_It wasn't until after Mass that the ramifications of that smile were made known to him. He was outside of the church, deciding on how he wanted to spend his free day, when his pew companion approached him._

" _Mornin'." The grey head nodded towards Severus. "We've sat next to each other nigh on a year now, figured it's safe to approach ya. I'm called Simon Kirwan. Father says yer a professor at a boardin' school."_

_Severus fought against fleeing. He had wished peace on this man, hand shaken his hand as a sign of peace, and it had been returned. Kirwan was right, after a year they should introduce themselves. "Morning. I am Severus Snape, and Father McKinney is correct, I teach at Hogwarts."_

" _Are ya on holiday now?" Kirwan's grin had broadened. "Me wife, she was a professor in her day – taught Charms at Elder Oaks, that's our Wizarding School here, it's a bit smaller than Hogwarts I've heard, but it's just as good. Any rate, she's been tellin' meh that ya had to be the best one at yer school. She'd say 'The mean ones care. They know what's what. This world's not nice, and the pupils have to learn to work with it.' Any rate, if ya have a moment, ya could come by and see her."_

_Severus glanced over at the Father, wondering if he would have a moment to sit and talk to him if he went. It was a fairly new addition to his Sunday morning ritual, but for the past month they would have breakfast at the rectory after Mass. Father McKinney had invited him, saying it was adult time, and Severus couldn't refuse. It had truly become grief counselling, but at least Father McKinney was better at it than Albus. Hazel eyes flashed his way before darting towards Kirwan and then back. A small nod towards him let Severus know that it was okay. "I'll stop by."_

_Kirwan led them down the small alley-like streets into the heart of the tiny village. "We live in a small place just around the corner." He stopped for a moment before turning towards Severus, his eyes bright. "Do ya have yer robes? I've seen ya in them a time or two – mighty impressive – and I know Mara would love to see them."_

_Raising his eyebrow, Severus wondered if he should please Mara, but in truth, he couldn't come up with a reason not too. "Give me a moment." Reaching into a jacket pocket he pulled out his folded, shrunken, robes. A quick flick of his wand hand them their normal size, and with a well-practised move, they were over his shoulders. "Shall we?"_

_Kirwan grinned broadly as he finished leading the way. The lady sitting in a wheelchair with a knitted blanket over her legs was not what Severus expected to see. "Mrs Kirwan," he nodded slightly over the out stretched hand he had taken._

" _Simon, ya brought him!" The smile flashed at his pew companion met with Severus' expectation and had him wondering what brought this lady to a wheelchair._

_Later that day, after breakfast with Father McKinney, found Severus deep in the Restricted Section hoping to find a book on he curses the followers of Grindelwald preferred. Mara Kirwan had been cursed while defending her students near the end of the war against Grindelwald. She had won, but the effects of the curse were slowly become more and more pronounced. He had learned that just this past year she became confined to the house. The quiet determination in their faded brown eyes struck a chord in Severus. Here was one place where his love of the Dark Arts might have a positive effect._

§§§§§§

Patrick woke up to a soft brush on his hand. Blinking, he caught his wand as it attempted to roll off his lap.

"Head back to your flock, Patrick." Ignatius' voice was low, as if he was trying not to wake Severus. "I am off to inform the Abbot of our guest." A small disc was pressed into Patrick's hand. "Here, this will warm and light up when you are needed. Use the portkey to the Infirmary when it does."

Patrick stood, catching the blanket and dropped it into the arm chair. With one last look at Severus, he gathered the folded clothes, and turned to leave. Ignatius' lasts words followed him.

"Expect the worse, but pray for the best."

§§§§§§

Patrick Apparated to the churchyard and marvelled at the sight that greeted him. The village was decorated as if there was a celebration being held, but the people he could see all looked as if they were grieving. Glancing down at his outfit, he deemed it suitable to go find out what happened. He quickly set Severus' clothes just inside his door and headed out.

Walking down the street he could hear snippets of conversation, and when he reached the square he knew he was smiling. Severus would be happy – the Dark Lord did die this morning during Lauds service and Potter lived. They could discuss the timing of it later, after Mass this Sunday... his thoughts stumbled as grief blind-sided him, clutching at his throat while wrapping tight bands around his chest. There might not be a conversation later.

Dropping onto a step, whose he didn't see, Patrick raised his hands to his face, only to stop and stare at the blood stained one. _'Severus' blood.'_ It was between his fingers, around his nails, in the folds of his knuckles, staining his wrist and the sleeve of his habit. Tears, ones he had been alternating between fighting and ignoring all night broke free, coursing freely down his face while his other hand covered his mouth, trying to block the sounds of his sobs. His eyes never left the blood-stained hand.

A hand rested on his shoulder, tightening in comfort, but he was unable to look up. Maggie Sheehan's voice broke through the absolute silence that he felt enshrouded him.

"He... he'd be happy about this, Father." The sound of tears in her voice allowed him to gain enough control to look up and found himself surrounded. His eyes trailed from face to face, automatically placing them with their service, and was comforted by the fact that there were people from both the early morning and the midday service. Severus had become part of this community, of this village slowly, but he was truly one of their own.

"They can't find him." Brian Magee tightened his hand on Patrick's shoulder as he spoke. Patrick wasn't sure if it was to be a form of comfort or to keep him sitting. "The tale that's comin' out is that he was loyal to Dumbledore, that Potter learned it somehow at the last minute – he used it to taunt You-Know-Who. Severus would have loved that."

Patrick's eyes turned back to his hand, still outstretched, still stained with dried blood. "Potter taunted the Dark Lord?" As soon as the name was off his lips, he jerked his eyes back to the crowd. He watched as the shadow of fear touched them briefly, but was brushed away. "Sorry, it's what Severus calls him and I've become used to it after all these years. Shorter and more precise than You-Know-Who."

Mara Kirwan reached out for his outstretched hand, her eyes taking in the dried blood. Her fingers stopped just short of touching his fingertips. Only then did he realise whose steps he'd collapsed onto. "Do you know where our Severus is? The British Ministry's going to start a man-hunt soon as they cannot find the body. We need to protect him."

Knowledge born from experience was in every face from young to old. All of them had lived through the Troubles in one form or the other. It hadn't touched this area of Ireland as much as in the northern counties, but if they hadn't seen it personally, they knew someone who had. They had also lived through the Terror of the Dark Lord, some more than once. The older generations, like Mara and Simon, had even seen Grindelwald's time. In the time after the war – or in the case of the Troubles, the battles – justice is not always properly served. Many never received a fair trial, and every one of them knew that Severus was perceived as being on the losing side.

Patrick looked back at his hand, wondering what Severus would want them to know. _'Nothing – he wanted them to be protected.'_ Knowing he couldn't do that, he brought his hand to his lap and clenched it together with his other one. Sharing this information would get word back to the British Ministry, there was always one who would be on the other side, but it was what it was.

"Sev –," The name caught in his throat, causing him to stop and recentre. He had to be strong again. Standing up, he brushed a hand down his scapular, and surveyed his congregation. "Severus is being taken care of." The gasp from the crowd made him shudder slightly. "He … might not make it." Shaking his head slightly, he clarified. "It's doubtful he'll live to see the sunset, but he did see the sunrise."

Mara glanced back at his hand. "You performed his Last Rites."

It wasn't a question, but he nodded yes as he didn't trust his voice to hold out. The crowd quieted down, their exuberance from the knowledge that Severus was alive falling away. "He … he needs our prayers."

Raising his eyes from the sombre faces to the decorations flying about the square, he let a small smile curve his lips. "And he would want us to celebrate his victory. Vol … Vold … Voldemort is dead."


	3. Reconciliation

Severus shifted slightly, waking slowly, straining his ears to figure out where he was. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was safe, Patrick wouldn't have taken him anywhere else. Slipping a hand under his pillow, relief coursed through him as his fingers contacted his wand. The bandage pulled at his neck, tugging at the scabs that had already formed. Wrapping his fingers around the handle of his wand, he cast a spell Poppy had taught him long ago. It caused the bandage to release the wounds and scabs. Sighing in relief, he settled deeper into the pillow, enjoying the soft wool against his skin.

 

“Twice in one day, you’re a fighter.”

 

The voice sounded familiar, but Severus was having a problem identifying it.

 

“If you can, open your eyes. If you can’t, then I’ll ask you later.”

 

The clink of a potion vial connected the voice to a memory. It was the Brother who had been helping Patrick earlier. Struggling, Severus lifted his eyelids and shifted his gaze until he spotted the short, thin man. His light brown hair was liberally streaked with grey, and his blue eyes – not Albus' baby blue, but robin egg blue – were filled with curiosity.

 

“Ah, your eyes are black – my niece assured me that you were composed of two colours – black and white, I see she was right.”

 

Severus swallowed in an attempt to moisten his throat – it felt like he hadn’t drunk in weeks – and asked, “What’s her name?”

 

The Brother shook his head. “No talking. No moving your head either. You've two holes in the side of your neck and the movement will not help them heal. You're barely hanging on by a thread anyway. Father McKinney wouldn't appreciate me not warning you. Now, I am Brother Ignatius, Healer here. My niece and nephew both graduated Hogwarts years ago, Caroline and Arthur Duffy – both Hufflepuffs.”

 

Severus closed his eyes, trying to bring the two to mind. Finally, he had them, one year apart. He opened his eyes and raised a single eyebrow. Before he could speak, the Brother stopped him.

 

“Ah, not a word. I don’t want to hear horror stories about them – I’ve seen them in my own Potions Lab, and that was scary enough.” Ignatius held two vials in front of his face. “Now, these were in your robes – Father McKinney took them out.”

 

Severus felt his eyes widen. In the back of his mind, he knew that Patrick had rifled through his robes, but to see the vials, empty...

 

“I know this one,” Ignatius moved the left-hand vial closer to his eyes. “Held Blood Replenisher. Just how concentrated was it?”

 

Severus frowned at him. Honestly, the amount of concentration depended upon your standard. Another vial was placed into his field of view, this one a full of Blood Replenisher.

 

“Use this as the standard, it’s what I normally work with.”

 

Severus reached for the vial but stopped when a pale wand pointed at him. A shot a fear went through him and he knew he would never be able to reach his wand in time to protect himself.

 

“ _Engorgio.”_ As soon as the pillow started growing in size, Ignatius fluffed and shaped it, and Severus felt his fear melt away. “There, now you can see without moving too much.” He handed over the vial.

 

Severus tipped it into the streaming evening sunlight, checking the colour. Opening it, he smelled it and then tasted just a drop.

 

“With your fingers, show me how many times more concentrated this one was.” Brother Ignatius held up the empty vial.

 

Severus held up five fingers. The potion vial was taken from him and he was given a cup of water.

 

“You can hold it?”

 

To prove it, Severus lifted it to his lips and drained the glass, handing it back to Ignatius, he waited for it to be filled. He now understood why he felt parched. Blood Replenisher needed liquid to work with.

 

“I am adding a nutrient potion to this one.” Ignatius passed over the Nutrient Potion for Severus to check, but he poured it into the cup in the man's hand. With a raised eyebrow Severus waited for the water to be added. Ignatius filled it and returned it to Severus. “You trust my potions?”

 

Severus gave a slight nod. The man had the same feel about him as Poppy, there was no way he would hurt him. He drained the cup, doing his best not to wrinkle his nose at the flavour. Ignatius took the cup back and smiled. “Let’s get you to the loo, and then settled back into bed. The Abbot will be here between Vespers and Compline to talk to you.”

 

Severus was helped to his feet and then across the floor as his legs trembled. The Brother opened the loo door and led him in before stepping out. “I’ll be right outside if you need me. Make a noise – just not with your voice.”

 

Refraining from rolling his eyes, Severus gestured for the man to leave. Minutes later he was settled properly into his bed, the covers tucked over him, not just a blanket.

 

“I want to change the bandage around your neck. It's going to hurt, but it needs it.” Ignatius set a clean cotton pad and strips of gauze on the side table next to a salve pot. Severus tensed and waited as the monk gently cut the gauze wrapped around his throat. He caught the surprised look on Ignatius' face as the old bandage fell onto the cover.

 

“How?” Blue eyes stared at the dried blood crusted on Severus’ neck and then darted to the equally crusted bandage. “I’ve heard tell of a spell that could do that.” His eyes shot up to Severus’. “When you are allowed to talk, will you teach it to me?”

 

Severus gave the barest of a nod and was give a brilliant smile in return. His neck was then gently cleaned, treated with the bruise salve, and then re-bandaged.

 

“Father McKinney went back to his parish this morning before the paper came in. I know he would like to tell you, but I doubt he will have a moment, so I will. This morning, just around sunrise, Potter defeated You-Know-Who.”

 

Severus’ eyes widened even as fierce satisfaction rushed through him. “Potter, he is alive?”

 

“No talking.” He continued when Severus sighed. “Yes, at least the paper said he was.” Ignatius passed the paper over. “Read it yourself – then you will know as much as I about what happened.”

 

Severus stared at the cover of the Prophet, his eyes not believing the flickering, smouldering ruin in the picture, but his mind told him it was real. His lips compressed as he held back the tears from seeing his home destroyed. This castle had been placed into his care, not only by the Dark Lord, but by Albus, and he had failed. Quickly scanning the article, he immediately flipped to the page that listed the dead. With a finger trailing after his eyes, he scanned down the list. Names he was looking for didn’t appear, but names he wasn’t expecting to see popped out at him. His lips compressed into a thin line as guilt filled his heart.

 

“They died in battle.”

 

Severus glanced up at the new voice. Its owner's dark grey cowled habit with it cowl was set off by the slightly lighter scapular and the man's white hair stood out against the other colours. His faded grey eyes just continued the colour scheme. The air of authority clinging to him made Severus believe that the monk was the Abbot come early. Ignatius' expression assured him that he was right. It was far too early for it to be time for the end of evening prayers, Vespers might not even be started yet. “They were my responsibility.”

 

He could see Ignatius glowering at him, but he ignored it. He knew quite well that the ones in authority wanted information when they came to see you.

 

“Not at that time, Headmaster. You cannot be held responsible for the deaths that happen during war – only the leaders can and they typically aren't either.” The Abbot inflection was coloured with personal experience. Having lived in Ireland for the last thirteen years – even if it was only during the summer – gave Severus a good insight as to what the experience might have been. “The news reports that most of the fighting in the school happened in the public areas, even the final confrontation between Harry Potter and You-Know-Who. It was in the Great Hall. The word coming out is that You-Know-Who fell dead from his own curse as the sun rose.”

 

Severus smiled, still relieved that Potter had survived and very curious how. ‘ _Guess it wasn’t his time.’_

 

“I see that pleases you. Good. The boy is vouching for you – saying you were on the side of the light this entire time.” Grey eyes studied him before the man nodded. “There will be a Requiem Mass held on Sunday for the fallen. If Brother Ignatius says you are well enough, you may attend. For now, I will leave you to your paper.”

 

He turned to leave, Ignatius moving to join him before Severus spoke up. “A breviary, please.”

 

The Abbot frowned in confusion, but Ignatius immediately summoned one from a shelf and handed it to Severus.   
  


“Do you need help finding today’s readings?” When Severus shook his head, Ignatius fixed him with a severe look. “No more talking, and rest when you need to. God will know your intent, but he will _not_ appreciate you speeding up your impending visit.”

 

Severus gave a very shallow nod of assent and watched the two men leave the room.

 

§§§§§§

 

Ignatius stopped in the doorway of his Infirmary, his eyes fixed on its one patron. The Abbot had walked him back and they found Snape sleeping, the breviary marked with a finger, but shut and resting on the man’s chest. With a brush of his shoulder, the Abbot left him. Ignatius knew the leader of their Abbey would be back in the morning.

 

Now, leaning against the door, he wondered just what Snape had seen, what he had done to keep the myth of being on You-Know-Who's side believable. He himself had seen the horrors of war when he had served with the British forces in Europe during Grindelwald's take over – though he was fighting Hitler. Quirking a grin, he remembered how easy it had been to create an identity the Muggle recruitment office would accept. It was there he first learned the basics of healing – all of it Muggle, but the basics didn't change no matter if you are magical or not. When he returned home to County Tyrone, he – like many of his fellow soldiers – were recruited into the fight for the independence of the Six Counties. The healing skills that he had acquired on the battlefield were once again used, but this time, he was also patching up kids younger than any he had seen on the Continent. One child – barely twelve – had died while he could do nothing. That one little boy had been the catalyst that pushed him back into the Wizarding world and into becoming a certified Healer.

 

Pushing off the door, he crossed the Infirmary to Snape's bed and gently removed the book from the man's grasp. He sat it on the side table next to the basket that held the potions Patrick had removed from the man's robes. Using his wand, he did a quick scan. The results showed that the antivenin was still fighting in his blood stream, but there was at least enough blood there to provide a battleground.

 

He tightened his lips in disgust aimed solely at himself. He had reacted poorly last night when Patrick came to him. Healers heal all those who need help, it didn’t matter if they were Orange, Green, Light, or Dark. It didn’t matter if they were for or against the current government. There was a hurt body and you took care of it.

 

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he cast an alert ward on his patient and headed to his potions lab. There were a few he needed to finish up before Compline.

 

§§§§§§

 

 

It was early Sunday morning, around his usual time, when Patrick woke up. As with the last two days, he moved as if he was in a cloud. He had said his prayers – that was the only time when things seemed clear – and spoke with people. Parishioners that never came by except for Mass stopped by to talk to him. They didn't come in droves, but for the last two days he hadn't truly had a moment alone except during Compline and when he went to bed. He tried to talk to them, to counsel them, to help them through the possible loss of Severus, but he had no clue how effective he was being.

 

Picking up his stole – the violet one he wore for confessions – he stopped, his heart constricting and tears threatening once again. Severus was the only one who came for Confession at this time in the morning. A glance out his front window showed no one coming to see him. It took but a split second to come to a decision. He pivoted on one foot and disappeared with a loud crack.

 

He appeared in the courtyard of the Abbey and quickly slipped into the building, the pathway to the Infirmary well marked and easy to traverse. He could have Apparated into the Infirmary, but that would have alerted Ignatius that he was direly needed. Slipping through the door, his eyes were drawn to the only occupied bed. Even in the dim light of early morning he knew it was Severus. Quietly he drew to the bedside and settled into the wooden chair – the one that Ignatius moved for him Friday morning. He would sit here for just a moment and reassure himself that Severus was doing as well as could be expected.

 

A soft voice broke the silence. “Came for the details, Father?”

 

Black eyes caught his before darting to the stole he was still holding. A dark eyebrow raised in query.

 

A smile, something Patrick hadn't even realised he hadn't done since Thursday, curled his lips. “No … well yes and no. It won't be a confession.” He tucked the stole under his scapular, looping it about his cincture around his waist so it wouldn't fall. “You have been granted absolution for the sins.”

 

Severus looked up at the ceiling as he spoke. “I would like to do something, though – if I live. Something to demonstrate my remorse for the actions I took.”

 

“We’ll think of something.” Patrick chuckled slightly, surprising himself again. “It should be easier than normal.”

 

Severus looked back at him again. “Indeed, it should be. I can openly do so now, not cloak it in shadow.” A small smile curled his lips, and then he sighed deeply. “Brother Ignatius and the Abbot said that Potter lives.”

 

“He is – one less thing to weigh you down.” Patrick leant forwards, closing the distance between them so Severus didn't have to speak up. “Now, can you tell me what happened that evening? I want to hear about the rest of the month as well, but...” He trailed off, trying to figure out how to say he wasn't searching for gossip, but wanting to know how Severus ended up on his kitchen floor.

 

“But you have always been a curious creature and want to understand the night that you played such a key role in – at least to me.” Severus finished for him. Patrick nodded. “It was late – the Fat Friar and I were parting ways.” He stopped for a moment, obviously considering something, before continuing. “The Friar and I have been meeting all month regularly for Lauds and Vespers, and if we could – the other Liturgical Hours except Compline. He said, and I agreed, that he couldn’t hear my confession as he was a ghost and didn’t know if the Seal would work. I was speaking to him about where to meet up for Lauds – we like the Astronomy Tower as it is bathed in the morning light and is secluded and protected.”

 

Patrick couldn’t help the smile that filled his face as a small seed of anger in his chest unravelled and vanished. He would always be grateful to Albus Dumbledore for showing Severus that forgiveness could be found and earned, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forgive the man for forcing Severus to kill him – to commit a mortal sin – because he would remember how desolate and broken his friend became, and anger would stir once more. He had prayed and prayed, and now it seemed his prayers were answered. If Severus could mention the Astronomy Tower and actually meet up there with someone, then his friend was healing.

 

“I had made it back to the Headmaster office, and the battle started. Albus' portrait was telling me that I need to get the message to Potter, and I knew I needed to get the students out of the school. Sometime in all the rush and chaos, I ended up facing Minerva's wand. Filius joined her. I deflected everything they sent my way and had to flee the school. I knew Potter was in those walls, but … I refused to hurt them. They didn't know I was on their side, they saw me as their enemy, but I _knew_ I wasn’t. I flew away into the night and eventually ended up in the Shrieking Shack with the Dark Lord. He was under the illusion that I was the master of Albus’ wand – something I didn’t change. So, he ordered my death. He didn’t disarm me, didn’t use his own power to overpower me as the wand requires – no … he ordered Nagini to kill me.”

 

“I am thanking the Lord for that small favour, Severus.” Patrick squeezed his arm, making sure he was still there. “That snake bite was one we could treat. You had the antivenin and the portkey with you, and Brother Ignatius had the healing skills. If the Dark Lord had done something else, I doubt you would be here now.”

 

“The _Lord_ was merciful – not Voldemort,” Severus spat the name, “so I was able to see Potter. The boy was there the entire time, at least long enough to see the snake attack. He and the other two. I couldn’t tell him – like I said last time – so I gave him the memories. When he left, I came to you.”

 

They both sat quietly for a moment, remembering what they could of that night. Shaking the dark thoughts from his brain, Patrick looked Severus over. “You seem to be doing better.”

 

“Brother Ignatius is still acting worried, but the Abbot said I could go to the Requiem Mass today if he allowed it.” Severus stopped rolling to his side carefully, so he was fully facing Patrick. “I want to go to St Mary’s. I want to sit in my pew with Simon and listen to Ellen sing. Let me come, Patrick. I know I will be fine.”

 

“I have to get Ignatius' permission – I can't just take you out of his care. He will worry.” Patrick stood, his fingers lingering on Severus' arm. “Give me just a moment. If he says yes, then we'll get you dressed and we'll go.”

 

“Yes, but he has to have a portkey directly back to here.”

 

Patrick jerked his head around and stared at Ignatius sitting just two beds over. A quick glance showed Severus wasn't surprised. Ignatius walked over towards them and held out a small stone – it looked just like the portkey that Patrick had used last time. “The Abbot was telling me last night that the Ministry is after his whereabouts. They haven't started searching the churches yet, but just give them time.”

 

Ignatius pulled the cover back and pointed his wand at Severus. “Let's transfigure that into something suitable. I know, transfigured clothes are not the best, but we can't have you show up in a habit – it would tip people off to your location.”

 

Patrick shook his head and held out his hand. “Put the wand away – I brought his clothes from Friday. We’ll leave the outer robe here, but the rest is what he wears to church anyway.” The way Severus’ eyes lit up made him glad he had scrubbed out the blood stains instead of banishing them. In less than ten minutes they were ready to leave.

 

Severus looked at Ignatius, his face bland, but not as blank as Patrick had seen it. “The tale you heard, I would appreciate it if it didn’t spread, at least not until the primary participants can know the full details.”

 

Ignatius nodded while he spoke, “Of course. Now, the moment you get more tired, come back. And Snape?” Severus raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “Stop talking.” He turned to Patrick. “You can Apparate from here.” With a wave, Ignatius stepped back and watched them leave.

 

§§§§§§

 

Patrick took them to the vestibule of the church, he didn't want anyone to know that Severus was there until they entered the sanctuary. Then, hopefully, they would show the appropriate decorum and Severus would obey Ignatius’ orders.

 

Severus straightened his coat and walked into the sanctuary. Patrick was hovering near his elbow, and he truly couldn’t fault his friend for that. It _was_ only two days ago that he appeared in the man's kitchen at death's door. Settling in his pew, he leant back and relaxed as the peace of the room filled him.

 

Patrick sat next to him and pressed the portkey into his hand. “Use it if you need to. Do _not_ make Brother Ignatius regret granting you permission.”

 

Slipping the small stone into his coat pocket, Severus gave an infinitesimally small nod to the priest. Patrick patted his arm before standing again.

 

“I am going to change into my vestments. Stay quiet, stay still, and remember – God will understand why you are not speaking, standing, kneeling, and all the other things. I will be bringing Communion back to you, do _not_ walk up front.” One last stern look, and he walked away.

 

It wasn’t long before the other parishioners started trickling into the church. Simon Kirwan was one of the first to notice him.

 

“Severus,” his voice cracked slightly as he whispered, “are ya okay? Are ya supposed ta be here?”

 

Faded brown eyes searched him from head to toe, pausing on the bandage that stood out against his neck.

 

“Simon,” Severus smiled toward the old man and nodded towards the pew. “I am going to break orders so you can tell everyone else. I’m here under strict orders. I’m not allowed to talk or move too much.”

 

“Then hush, I’ve got ya taken care of.” Simon settled into his normal spot, a smile curling his lips as he took in the smile that remained on Severus’ face. “I’ll make sure no one tries ta make ya talk, and that ya remember to stay settled.”

 

Knowing that the man would do just that, Severus relaxed once again and waited for Mass to begin.

 

True to his word, Simon fielded all the inquiries that people asked when they noticed him. He also prevented people from attempting to touch him, hug him, and anything else. The congregation settled down when Ellen began the opening hymn. The black vestments looked out of place on Patrick, but at the same time, they looked right. The solemn tone of the Mass was set between the hymn and his demeanour. Severus listened to the psalms, the readings, and the Gospel with relish. It had been a month since he had had a chance to do so, and part of him wished the Fat Friar could be here with him, he knew the ghost would love it, too. It was during the Homily that Severus fought his tears all because Father McKinney named each one of the dead regardless of which side they’d been on. Severus had friends and people whom he respected on both sides, and it made him glad that his friend, who had looked directly at him when he read the fallen Death Eaters, remembered that. That Patrick incorporated all of them into his homily, not just as a list of names, but as part of the talk, was that much more of a blessing.

 

As the Mass continued, Severus felt his strength fading. The sharp look that Patrick gave him when he offered him the Blessed Sacrament told him to go back. Simon’s words at the end of the final hymn were far more abrupt.

 

“Get back, Severus. Ye need ta be in bed.” Simon glared at the children who were rushing about, getting too close to him. “You've paid yer respects, now don't make it so we have'ta have another one fer ya.”

 

“Go – you can leave from right where you are. God won’t mind.” Patrick picked up Severus’ hand and rested it over the portkey. “Go.”

 

“Thank you for acknowledging them all,” whispered Severus as his fingers tightened around the stone through the pocket material.

 

“You’re welcome, my friend.” Patrick stepped back, moving Simon with him. “Now, head back.”

 

Activating the portkey, Severus fell into the bed he had left that morning. It took but a moment to be helped back into his nightshirt by a scolding Brother Ignatius.

 

§§§§§§

 

It was Tuesday before Brother Ignatius allowed Severus out of bed again for extended periods of time. Severus knew he had pushed it on Sunday, but he had no regrets. Crossing the Infirmary, he enjoyed the feel of his robes moving about him, and he knew a smile was turning his lips. He knocked on the door that Brother Ignatius had pointed out to him and waited.

 

“Enter.”

 

His smile grew at the sight of the Potions Lab behind the door. Sure, it wasn’t state of the art – his personal one at Hogwarts was slightly better – but it was a _Potions Lab_. That made it the perfect room.

 

“Ah, Snape, come in and shut the door.” Ignatius gestured to the cauldron in the draft from the door. “It’s sensitive to temperature changes.”

 

With much alacrity, Severus entered the room and shut the door. He knew far better than to hurt a potion brewing.

 

Ignatius gestured to the room. “I know it isn’t what you are used to, there’s nothing in here that can even claim to be top of the line,” the rest his statement was cut off by a negating gesture from Severus.

 

“It’s not the equipment that determines the quality of a potion.” Severus peered into the cauldron, noting it was a Blood Replenisher. “A person can have all the best ingredients and tools, but if he doesn't have the knowledge and practice, his potion will be worthless.” Moving around the room, he looked over the ingredients that were tucked away, stored in some of the most interesting methods. “But, the converse is true as well.” Here he turned to face the Brother. “If the mind and the hand know and are practised, then it doesn’t matter what the tools are, nor the quality of the ingredients, the potion made will be the absolute best possible.”

 

Ignatius’ surprised but grateful expression told him that monk accepted his words. Severus glanced about for a list but didn't see one. “Is there anything I can help with?”

 

Ignatius nodded. “I am a Healer with training in Potions.” He gestured to the multitude of ingredients that surrounded them. “Can you, as a Potions Master, make a stronger pain killer with these? Or a good fever reducer? You’ve taken the ones I know how to make.”

 

His self-deprecating tone had Severus trying not to growl. “I am a Potions Master with training in Healing. We both have our areas of specialities. To answer your question, yes I can. What are you expecting to happen?”

 

“We are still at war.” Ignatius studied Severus’ face for a long moment. “The Six Counties are still under the control of the British Ministry – both Muggle and Wizarding. Even with the Good Friday Agreement, there is still tension, especially here in the Wizarding World.”

 

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Good Friday Agreement?”

 

“It was signed this past Good Friday – April tenth – but it was only signed by the Muggle Ministry. The British Ministry of Magic was … too occupied to concern themselves with it.”

 

Severus snorted lightly at that. “So, the wizards of the Six Counties don’t know what’s going to happen.”

 

“Basically, though I hear tell that the new Minister is trying to handle that. I’m expecting one side or the other to take offence and then I’ll get some of the victims here. I typically do.”

 

Severus narrowed his eyes in thought. “Then you need a potion to counter the effects of tetanus as well.” He knew that nail bombs and other shrapnel explosives were used, and it didn't matter if you were Muggle or Wizard, those could tear a person apart.

 

“There’s a potion for that?” Ignatius stared at him hopefully.

 

Nodding, Severus ran the ingredients he spotted through his mind, making sure all he needed were there. “Yes, I patented it years ago, but not many people needed it, so it’s not widely known.”

 

“If you could brew some of that as well...” Ignatius trailed off as Severus nodded his head.

 

§§§§§§

 

Severus looked up from the group of cauldrons he was just finishing with, a hand subconsciously running over the habit Brother Ignatius had given to wear while his own clothes were being cleaned, but it wasn’t disapproval that graced the Abbot's face as the man entered the room. No, there was a slight upturn of the man’s lips belying the tension lines around his eyes, and he had stopped just inside of the door.

 

“Headmaster Snape,” the Abbot forestalled him from speaking, not giving Severus a moment to correct him about the title. “I have authorised you to take the small room beside this lab. Your bed in the Infirmary is now occupied. Brother Mark has moved your belongings there for you already.”

 

Severus shot him a surprised look but nodded. He had no qualms being closer to the Potions Lab. “That’s fine.”

 

Brother Ignatius slipped into the room, barely fitting around the Abbot, and gestured to the cauldrons before asking, “Severus, I need you in the Infirmary, can you come?” A relieved look filled his face when Severus nodded.

 

The Abbot shot him a look. “They might recognise him. Surely the other Brothers can give the same aid?”

 

Ignatius shook his head. “Severus has been trained in the Healing Arts, the same as I have been trained in the Art of Potions.” Ignatius frowned at Severus, taking in his appearance, before speaking again. “He’s wearing a habit, let’s let him use a hood, he can wear it to cover his face, and we’ll say he can’t speak except for spells.”

 

Severus shook his head. “I’ll agree to the hood, but not to lying about what I can and cannot do. I just won’t speak and let them come to their own conclusion.”

 

Both Ignatius and Severus looked towards the Abbot for approval. He nodded his permission causing Ignatius to sigh in relief. It took less than a minute to have Severus dressed and hood pulled low over his face. Severus pulled his wand and ran it over the edge of the material.

 

“What?” Ignatius touched the cloth, only to be surprised that it didn’t move under his fingers.

 

“A spell to keep the hood in place, and it also allows me to see through it.” Severus headed for the door, refusing to explain where and why he learned the spell. “Shall we?”

 

Ignatius headed back to the Infirmary with Severus not a step behind him. “Start on the far side, just do what you can.”

 

“What happened?” asked Severus.

 

“A confrontation between the Orange and the Green. The British Ministry of Magic has finally started making some headway on peace comparable to the Muggle one, and one of the sides had issues with it. We are taking care of victims from both sides of the confrontation.” Ignatius opened the back door. “I’ll call you your name – there are enough Saints named Severus to not draw too much unwanted attention. The moment you feel tired or drained, retire. The last thing I want is for you to relapse – I just got you on your feet.”

 

Severus stepped through the door and heard the sounds of suffering and smelled the pungent odour of blood. Crossing the room, he looked at the patient in the first bed. Nails were embedded in the man’s arm and leg and he appeared to be hexed with Furnunculus. A quick counter-hex helped to alleviate that issue, but the nails were going to take a bit more finesse. Wishing for his own robes where he could carry his potions about with him, he crossed the room to gather what he needed. Working down the row of beds he treated similar wounds along with repairing numerous hexes.

 

A tap on his arm drew his attention to one of the Brother’s whose name he didn’t know.

 

“Brother Ignatius wishes to consult you.” The monk moved off to another patient waiting at the door as Severus walked to the bed where Ignatius was looking very worried.

 

Ignatius didn’t waste time with greetings, he just gestured to the man lying on the bed who was looking just as bad as Severus surely did when he arrived. “Is there anything you can do?”

 

Casting a couple diagnostic spells, Severus shook his head. “I can hopefully keep him anchored in this world long enough for the Last Rites to be administered.”

 

A bleak look crossed the Brother’s face before he dropped his head. “Please do what you can.” Moving from the bed, he stopped next to another monk, who came to take his place. With a slight nod towards Severus, the Brother began the sacraments.

  
Severus rested his wand tip against the dying man’s arm and mentally chanted a spell that he had never planned to use again. The last time he had seen it performed it was used to prolong the torture of Voldemort’s latest play toy. Even as he struggled to hold the soul there, he could feel it slipping away from him. The words of the Rites began to blur as his energy was sapped from him. Holding on as tight as he could, he heard a quiet Amen, and then he lost his hold allowing the soul to fly away. Breathing heavily, he leant against the side of the bed.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Severus looked up at the Brother who smiled towards him.

 

“I was able to finish with the Anointing.” The monk reached out a hand towards him. “Are you okay? Do you need to rest?”

 

Severus gave a quick shake of his head and pulled himself back up to his full height. There were still people who needed help.

 

Later, after those who could go home had and those who couldn’t were tucked in, Ignatius cornered him in his room and ran a simple diagnostic over him.

 

“You did too much, Severus.” The blue eyes pinned him to his new bed. “Rest. I will check you in the morning, if you are still this weak in the morning, then you won’t be allowed in the Lab.”

 

“Ignatius,” his complaint was cut off by the look that Severus swore was taught during Healer training.

 

“Brother Stephen wants to know what spell you used to keep young Malone alive.”

 

Severus shook his head. “It's too dark, no one here should ever know it exists, much less know its name.”

 

Ignatius sighed but nodded. “I’ll let him know. Now, get some rest.”

 

With that, the monk left, closing the door after him.

 

§§§§§§

 

 

Later Lynn O’Brien would apologise for not warning Patrick. She would explain that she was torn between her loyalty to the village and to her husband, Gregory. She hadn’t known exactly how the British Ministry would act when Gregory reported information about Severus Snape, but one thing was for sure, she hadn't expected them to send Aurors to their little village to demand information from the priest. Patrick would forgive her just as the same as he would forgive Gregory, but that was in the future. Right now, he stepped out on his front porch as he watched two men dressed in red and one dressed in a rich brown being escorted to his door by Gregory O'Brien.

 

“Father McKinney,” O’Brien nodded towards the priest, before gesturing to the men following him. “They’ve some questions for ya.”

 

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Patrick smiled at the visitors. “How can I help you today?”

 

A cold feeling curled around Patrick's heart as he took in the patch on the red robes and the one on the brown one. The two Ministries had finally succeeded in working together – at least well enough to send Aurors to collect Severus. He had known that his friend's whereabouts would get back to the Ministries the moment he mentioned he was alive, and that Severus' appearance in the church would guarantee this visit. Casting a quick look at O’Brien's face, he could see the defiance aimed at him in his expression.

 

The older British Auror stepped slightly ahead of the other two. “We’re here to arrest Severus Snape. Turn him over.”

 

Patrick watched as the man’s gruff abrupt tone earned him a frown from the Irish Auror and a surprised look from O’Brien. Folding his hands under his scapular, he forced his smile to stay on his face. “I am sorry, but Severus Snape is not here.”

 

The black-haired Irish Auror searched his face as if hunting for clues, but the younger of the British Aurors stepped forwards, a snarl on his face. “Give him over, priest! This man is a wanted criminal.”

 

The smile slipped off Patrick’s face for a just a brief moment only to return just as bright as before. “He is not here, how can I turn him over?”

 

The Irish Auror stepped forward, his brown eyes shooting a warning look at the young blond before addressing Patrick. “Father, I am Auror Gillingham, sent by the Irish Ministry of Magic to find Headmaster Severus Snape and turn him over to the British Ministry. Auror Smith,” he gestured to the older Auror, “and Auror Patterson,” he gestured towards the younger one, “were sent by their Ministry to escort the man back to stand trial for crimes committed as a Death Eater. We were told that Headmaster Snape attended Mass here last Sunday, is this true?”

 

“Auror Gillingham, I am Father Patrick McKinney.” Patrick glanced back at the other two before returning his attention to the Irishman. “Severus Snape was here last Sunday for the Requiem Mass, but he is no longer in our village. If you wish to search the grounds of the church, be my guest.” With that he stepped aside, allowing them access to his door.

 

Smith growled low in his throat. “Our informant told us you are friends with the scum and that you knew his whereabouts. Just take us to him.”

 

Patterson stepped up to stand beside his partner. “Or we’ll have to arrest you for interfering with the administration of justice.”

 

Gillingham’s shoulders tightened, O’Brien’s eyes widened in disbelief, and Patrick lost his smile completely.

 

“Of course, you would.” Patrick reined in the rest of his sarcastic answer. He had been listening to Severus and had had one too many run-ins with the British Aurors when he was younger not to think it, though. Stepping off his porch, he brushed a hand across O’Brien's shoulder, offering him forgiveness for bringing these men to his door. “O’Brien, please let the village know that I _should_ be back in time to perform the Tully’s baby’s baptism.”

 

Walking passed the Aurors, he headed out the churchyard gate. “This way sirs. We have quite a walk ahead of us, I do hope you have comfortable shoes.” Striking off, he didn’t wait to see if they followed him, but he heard them.

 

“You are here as guests of the Irish Ministry.” Gillingham was speaking softly, but the words still reached Patrick’s ears. “You _cannot_ arrest _anyone_ besides Severus Snape. You _cannot_ threaten our people.”

 

Patrick felt a small stirring of thankfulness. Of course, Gillingham could arrest him on the same charges if he felt he had the evidence to do so, but it was nice to know that he wouldn’t be at the British Aurors’ mercy.

 

“Can’t we floo there, or Apparate?” Patterson called out to him when they reached the centre of the village.

 

Patrick turned back to face them. “I cannot Apparate all three of you to his location, and no, we don’t have permission to floo there. So, we walk.”

 

Gillingham looked resigned as he asked. “How far, Father?”

 

“If we cut across the fields and through the forests, about an hour and a half, two if the river is swollen – we’ll have to move to a different ford. If we travel by road? Then it will be at least five hours. Since I have a baptism in three hours, I plan on the first choice.” Patrick noticed the Aurors taking in the unwelcome and almost threatening feelings coming from the villagers that were gathering about. He made a subtle calming motion with his hand, hoping things wouldn’t escalate. He caught the grateful look tossed his way by Gillingham as the villagers relaxed. “Now, shall we?”

 

Gillingham sighed as he nodded. The other two still looked mutinous, but after looking at the Irish Auror, they started walking again. Patrick continued on his way hoping that this would end peacefully.

 

§§§§§§

 

Michael Gillingham was not happy to be assigned on this particular mission. As soon as he saw the two British Aurors, he had wondered if they were calm enough to fulfil this particular mission. Yesterday’s attack had left relations between the two Ministries strained, and the Aurors sent in were going to be as much of a diplomat as a law enforcer. These two were far from that. It didn’t help that the person they were dealing with was a priest.

 

He was grateful for the lack of crowds when the two threatened Father McKinney at the church, though he knew that tale would be spread about soon. When they walked through the village, he was wary, his guard as high as it could be without drawing his wand. One wrong look, one wrong word to their priest would bring the most of the village down upon them. Relief had washed through him when the Father had calmed the crowds, and Gillingham was not sure if the British Aurors even realised just what could have happened. Smith maybe, but the younger one he doubted had a clue of the deeper dynamics at play here.

 

Cutting close to the stone walls that separated the fields, he watched the priest just as closely as he watched the visitors to their country. Father McKinney was not truly worried. It was in the set of his shoulders, the way he walked – his steps hurried but not frantic. This lack of concern convinced Gillingham that Severus Snape was not leaving this country today, and that caused him concern since the two Aurors wouldn’t like that.

 

“How much further?” Patterson groused as he skirted a patch of briers on the skinny deer trail the priest was leading them down causing Gillingham to perk up his ears in hopes that the Father would tell them something besides ‘follow me’.

 

“We’ve about thirty more minutes, as long as the tributary up ahead is fordable.” Father McKinney pushed through a clump of thick brush, picking up a long stick as he did. Gillingham couldn’t help but tense for a moment. That stick could be a weapon though he calmed slightly, trusting the Father not to use it as one. In less than a minute he learnt the reason for the stick. The priest was testing the depth of the fast flowing water of the river. Walking along the bank, he tapped the stick on the bottom stopping where the water was shallower than the rest.

 

“We’ll ford here, follow me precisely. You might want to hold up your robes.” The Father pulled his habit up to his knees, showing off skinny pale legs before stepping into the stream.

 

Following his example, Gillingham cringed inward as the cold waters soaked through his trousers, but he made sure to follow the priest as he moved forward using the stick to test the depth as he went. He almost lost his footing on the slippery rock as the fast current tried to pull him with it. The other two followed him, and all used a drying charm when they reached the other bank. Twenty minutes later, Gillingham had a good idea where they were going. He had never walked to the Abbey of the Beloved, but the trees and the feel of the area were becoming more and more familiar.

 

He admired the tall spire rising above them as Father McKinney knocked on a heavy wooden gate. A slot shot open, showing only the eyes of the man behind it.

 

“I am Father McKinney escorting three Aurors to see Severus Snape.” The priest stepped back as the slot was closed, and turned to them. “We wait now.”

 

Smith snorted. “We’ve travelled forever, and now we have to wait for them to open the door?”

 

“You told them who we were so they could get Snape away,” snarled Patterson, his wand clenched tight in his hand and tapping against his leg.

 

Gillingham moved between Patterson and McKinney. “We are at the Abbey of the Beloved. The Abbot must be told of our arrival and grant us permission to enter.”

 

It was not long before the door was opened and they were permitted into the small courtyard. Gillingham immediately greeted the Abbot. “Brother John, thank you for seeing us today.”

 

“Auror Gillingham, I was not expecting your company, but the presence of the two you are escorting are not a surprise.” The Abbot turned and watched as two men entered the courtyard from the north side of the compound.

 

The two British Auror drew their wands the moment they saw the tall man walking with Brother Ignatius. Gillingham frowned and shook his head causing them to lower them. Looking back at the group, the Irish Auror was shocked to see the formation the monks of the Beloved had created around Snape. Brother Ignatius stood on his right, with Father McKinney on his left, and behind him stood Brother John. Filling in the space between the Healer, the Abbot, and the Priest were the other monks of the Abbey. He hadn’t seen the other eight come into the courtyard, but he knew that this man was something special to them if all the monks stood by him.

 

Smith stepped forward, his gaze scanning the group. “Severus Snape, you are under arrest. We were sent here to return you to Britain to stand trial for your actions as a Death Eater.”

 

Gillingham watched as the man in the middle of the triangle of holy men pivoted about and knelt at the feet of the Abbot.

 

“I ask for Sanctuary, Abbot. Please, grant me the protection of the house of my Lord and Father.” Snape’s voice was soft, but his words were perfectly understandable.

 

Gillingham couldn’t help but feel impressed – the man had waited until now to request protection. Shifting his attention, he noticed the way Brother Ignatius was watching the kneeling man. Experience told him that Snape was a patient, but one that the Brother liked and respected.

 

“Severus Snape, you have requested Sanctuary from this Abbey. As Abbot, I grant you your request. From this moment until forty days have passed, you shall be safe from all harm.” The Abbot watched as Snape stood before transferring his attention back to Gillingham.

 

Gillingham waited for Smith to finish the formal acceptance of the Sanctuary request, but the words didn’t come. Narrowing his eyes at the man, he shifted his attention to Snape. “Severus Snape, you have requested and been granted Sanctuary here at the Abbey of the Beloved. You have forty days to decide if you wish to stand trial without fear of neither the death penalty nor the Dementor’s Kiss or if you wish to accept abjuration of the realm and remain in permanent exile from Britain. We shall return in forty days for your decision if you have not already acted.”

 

Before he could signal the other two to leave, Smith strode forward.

 

“No! I cannot accept this request. The British Ministry does _not_ accept a claim of Sanctuary for murderers and those who commit treason,” growled the older Auror. “Severus Snape, you are to come with us now.”

 

Gillingham moved towards the monks, his wand slipping into his hand, though it was still pointed towards the ground. “You are not on British soil, Auror Smith. Mr Snape has been granted Sanctuary by Irish law, and shall remain here protected by that law.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the monks closing ranks around Snape even though the man was glaring at them.

 

“That scum … that _git_ cannot escape _justice_ this way!” Patterson pointed his wand at Snape, its tip glowing red.

 

Smith quickly pushed his partner’s wand down until the tip was aimed at the ground. “Gillingham is right, there is nothing we can do at this moment, Patterson, but never you fear, the man will be brought to justice.” The last part was snarled at Snape.

 

Watching them carefully, Gillingham spoke up. “Brother John, may we use your floo to return to the Ministry?”

 

The Abbot moved until he stood in front of Snape, and with a flick of his hand, the monks and the priest took the man away. “Of course. I believe you remember where it is, Auror Gillingham?”

 

The Irishman nodded and herded the other two towards it. He was right, this mission was nearly a catastrophe. He was very grateful for the monks and the priest that prevented this from becoming another dark mark between the two countries.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Penance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks is afforded to SuNoYu for taking this one and pointing out the hard truths and the gentle ones as well.
> 
> One extra note and then you can get to reading. About the Royal Prerogative of Mercy - I took a slight liberty with it allowing the use of the older version - just after the Ministers started acquiring part of that power from the crown as I believed the Wizarding World would still be a bit behind the times on that front. That said - the differences between the two types were completely made up by me, and how to accept it. I couldn't find any of that information. ^-^

 

Severus settled back onto his bed, and let Patrick sit next to him. Brother Ignatius leant against the wall, his blue eyes holding the same resolved look as the other monks that were crowding in the small room.

 

“Abjure them and stay here.” Patrick’s request was a quiet plea.

 

Severus knew Patrick understood what he was asking, his friend had listened not only to Severus’ words but his tones for more than a decade. He thought of the house he owned near Simon’s, of the small potions lab in the basement, the shop on the ground level, and his living area above it. There were neat gardens, maintained by different people during the school year, that surrounded the place. During the summer the shop was open, selling potions not only to his village but to the magical people in the ones surrounding them. Abjuration wouldn’t be as much of a hardship as it was for others, but it would still hurt. He needed to see the professors at Hogwarts, he had to give others a chance to clear the air between them. A quick look at the monks that filled the room showed they thought abjuration was the best thing. Sighing lightly, he leant against the wall next to the bed. “I need to make amends, and I can’t do that here.”

 

Understanding flashed across Brother Stephen’s face before he tipped his head to the side. “Join us. Not the best reason to become a monk, but it is an old one. They cannot touch you if you do, and before you take your vows, you can go see the ones you need to make amends with. You have forty days, that is almost your entire Observership.”

 

Severus was surprised to see the welcome on the other men’s faces. “Observership?”

 

Brother Mark smiled. “That means you’ll be kept here, living and working with us. You’ll learn what it means to be a monk, and I’ll be the one in charge of watching you. I’ll be observing you to see if you show the ability to have a true devotion, if you’ve a true vocation of a monk. The others will also watch you, and then at the end, we will talk about our observations, and you will discuss your feelings and calling.”

 

Severus gave a small shake of his head. “I don’t think I’ve the proper … mentality to be a monk.”

 

The Abbot spoke up from doorway, the monks between him and Severus squishing together to make room for him to enter. “So speaks a man who has been attending every prayer service faithfully, even when he _wasn’t_ supposed to be there. One who requested a breviary on what could very well have been his deathbed, and _knew_ how to find the day’s and the Hour’s sections. One who pushes himself past his endurance, risking his health so recently gained, so that he might keep others alive, or at least help them find their way to Christ’s side easier.”

 

Severus murmured, “That’s no different from anything else I’ve done over the last seventeen years. My breviary was at Hogwarts, or I wouldn’t have had to request one. All I truly wish is to talk to the professors at Hogwarts and a few others – those I have wronged personally.”

 

“If you could do that, you would then abjure the UK and settle here permanently?” Patrick’s gaze scanned Severus’ face.

 

“I would.” Relief filled Severus as soon as those words left his lips. It felt good to have a decision made.

 

The Abbot’s grey eyes softened. “I can arrange meetings, but there cannot be a multitude of people.”

 

Severus’ brow creased as he thought of those he could invite that he wished to see. None of the Death Eaters or their associates would be willing or able to come, he was sure. “It’d be no more than twenty people, and they’d most likely arrive in two groups and at different times.”

 

“Write them a letter explaining why they are invited here, and I’ll include it with my invitation.” The Abbot shooed the monks out of the room, leaving only Patrick and Ignatius.

 

“I’ll bring some of the clothes you have at home tomorrow. I was planning on doing so today, but we had visitors.” Patrick stood up and rested a hand on Severus’ shoulder. “I have to go, the Tullys added a new one and his baptism is this afternoon.”

 

Severus squeezed his hand before smiling. “Offer Miriam and Tim my congratulation.”

 

“I will.” Patrick waved as he headed out.

 

Ignatius studied Severus for a moment longer before sighing. “Settle down and rest. You’re still not completely recovered from yesterday. I’ll bring you a quill, ink, and some parchment.”

 

With a wave, he walked out leaving Severus to the peace and quiet.

 

§§§§§§

 

 

_Minerva,_

 

_I hope this finds you and the other staff members of Hogwarts as well as can be expected. In this packet you’ll find an invitation from the Abbot of the Abbey of the Beloved. I’m writing to explain why Brother John has invited you to visit. I am willing to meet with all the members of the staff so we can discuss this school year and the events at the end of the previous school year. If you have anything that you believe should be brought to my notice, then take this opportunity to do so. Please request the Heads of House to gather complaints from their students – this can be in writing or orally – so they can be addressed at the same time._

 

_Minerva, we both know you should be the Headmistress of Hogwarts, but I have been unable to offer my resignation. I was not expecting this to be an issue – that you would acquire the title at the time of my demise – so I have not investigated the proper way to step down. If you would bring the forms or tell me the appropriate procedure when you come visit, or mail them to me here at the Abbey, I would appreciate it._

 

_Lastly, I am including the letters for the others who are invited to the Abbey in the hopes that you will deliver them. I highly doubt they would accept post from me. Yes, I know that some are students, but I believe they deserve a moment to express their grievances due to either the positions they held this past year or because of an offence committed upon them by me personally._

 

_Thank you,_

_Severus Snape_

 

§§§§§§

 

The Fat Friar watched as Kingsley Shacklebolt, Interim Minister, paced the Headmaster’s office, his attention darting between the ghosts, assembled professors, and the portraits. Kingsley finally focused on Minerva. “Severus has been found.”

 

Gasps sounded through the room, even the portraits reacted. Albus leant against his frame. “Make his trial tomorrow, in front of the entire Wizengamot, and don’t let him be placed in Azkaban. Hold him in a Ministry Cell if they need to lock him up somewhere.”

 

Minerva glared at the old Headmaster, still mad that he had waited until _after_ the Battle at Hogwarts to inform her, the other surviving Order members, and the professors about Severus’ allegiance and just what he had been doing last year. “The Ministry will _not_ treat him kindly, you _know_ that Albus.”

 

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” Kingsley sighed as everyone focused on him once again. “The Aurors who found him didn’t return with him.”

 

The Friar beamed. Severus had a plan, that he knew, and it seemed as if it included somewhere safe. He wondered if the Headmaster had claimed Sanctuary.

 

Hooch grinned. “He’s too good for them? Sent ’em back with their tails between their legs?”

 

Hagrid frowned at her before asking, “How many did they send? Were they expectin’ ter find him?”

 

Kingsley shook his head. “There was an informant that sent the Ministry information about Severus’ possible whereabouts. They sent two Aurors in to gather information, and found someone who could take them right to him.”

 

Hagrid glared at Kingsley before huffing in aggravation. The Friar also narrowed his eyes. He knew that it was wrong to hide a wanted criminal, but Severus was much more than that – or rather he wasn’t even a criminal. He was just perceived as such.

 

“The thing is, he was somewhere they couldn’t bring him back from,” Kingsley continued.

 

“Where?” Minerva asked as she let an owl in. The bird dropped a packet onto her desk and then flew back out.

 

“I can’t say, it’s locked up with secrecy oaths. The Irish Ministry of Magic doesn’t want it to leak out here and have vigilante groups hunting him down, disrupting their country.” Kingsley dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “There are a number of people in the Ministry that think the two Aurors are making it up to cover up their failure to capture him.”

 

The Fat Friar drifted close to the desk and spotted the seal on the packet. A smile filled his face. “Did they say he requested and was granted Sanctuary?”

 

Kingsley whipped his head about and stared at the ghost. “How... how did you guess that?”

 

The Fat Friar nodded to the seal. “It’s from the Abbey of the Beloved, and I cannot think of another person who would be at one.”

 

“I can’t imagine Severus Snape in one.” Vector mumbled loud enough to be heard.

 

The Friar just smiled as Minerva opened the packet, and stared at the scrolls that tumbled out. She picked up one addressed to her. “That’s Severus’ handwriting.”

 

Cracking the seal, she scanned the message before looking at the staff. “He … he is … he wants us to go there and talk with him. More specifically, he wants us to air our grievances, though he doesn’t come out and say that. If you are a Head of House, he wants us to compile a list of student complaints to be discussed.”

 

She turned and cast a quick look at Albus before shifting her attention to Kingsley. “He also wishes to know the proper procedure to resign as Headmaster.”

 

Kingsley gestured to the rest of the scrolls. “What else is there? Anything at all we can use to help him?” Part of him hoped for an invitation as well, even though he knew it would be a political nightmare.

 

Minerva shook her head. “Letters for the others he wants to speak to, and letters from the Abbot.”

 

Pomona studied her House’s ghost. “Friar, you don’t seem surprised that he’s at an Abbey.” She then looked at the Baron. “Neither do you.”

 

The two dungeon ghosts shared a look before the Baron gestured for the Friar to explain. Folding his hands under his scapular, he gave them all a benevolent look. “Severus is a deeply religious man. He and I have met up for years to celebrate the Hours, and he would attend Sunday service when times permitted. Unfortunately, this past year made it hard for him to leave. I feared the night of the battle he would pass on without receiving the Blessed Sacraments. He assured me that if he was dying he would be all right.”

 

A pin drop could be heard in the silence following his statement. Indeed, the rusting of the portraits sounded as if a storm blew in. Minerva rounded on Albus. “Severus left campus regularly, and I wasn’t informed of this?”

 

Painted blue eyes studied the two ghosts before Albus sighed. “I am just now hearing of this regular occurrence myself, my dear.”

 

The Friar had had a feeling that Severus’ regular Sunday morning trips were not sanctioned by Albus the moment the Potions Master had asked him and the Baron to watch over his house.

 

Kingsley shook his head before looking at the names on the letters. “Potter, Granger, the younger Weasleys, Lovegood, and Longbottom?”

 

Minerva nodded. “He didn’t think they would accept post from him, so he asked if I’d see them delivered.”

 

“Will you deliver a letter to Severus from me?” Kingsley smiled slightly now that he had an idea.

 

“Of course.”

 

§§§§§§

 

The Hogwarts staff was scheduled to arrive at the Abbey in two weeks. Albus had grumbled and complained about the delay while Minerva and the other Heads were grateful for the time to gather their students’ input. They made sure to collect not only complaints but also things the students noticed that were good, or at least not as bad as they could be. All of them had been shocked at what the students had noticed that they hadn’t. Harry’s championing of the man had caused them to truly pay attention to what happened.

 

At the appropriate time, all the staff members going stepped off of school grounds and held onto a corner of the Abbot’s invitation. The portkey activated and they were transported to a small clearing near a large wooden door. Tugging their cloaks a bit closer, the group looked about just to be sure there weren’t Muggles nearby. Minerva knocked on the door and stepped back as the small slot was opened and two bright blue eyes looked out at her.

 

“We’re here at the invitation of the Abbot.” She held up the letter, doing her best not to mention Severus’ name.

 

The blue eyes narrowed slightly, but then the slot closed and the door was opened. A monk dressed in a grey habit with a lighter grey scapular gestured them through the door.

 

“Wait here, I will let Brother John know you are here.” Even as the man turned about, an older monk walked into the courtyard. “Brother John.”

 

The man nodded towards them before speaking to the other monk. “Brother Thomas, will you let Severus know his guests are here. I will take them to the larger visitor’s room.”

 

Brother Thomas nodded and headed off into the complex. Minerva switched her attention to the Abbot. “Thank you for allowing us to be here and for taking care of Snape.”

 

“You’re welcome.” He turned and gestured for them to follow him. “I ask that you do not wander about the Abbey, there are many areas that aren’t open to the public.

 

In a very short time they were settled into a small, but comfortable, room near the courtyard.

 

“Severus will be here shortly. Please wait for him here.” With that Brother John partially shut the door behind him, and they were left alone.

 

The sound of approaching footsteps was coming much slower than they expected, but the boots against stone was familiar. Voices slipped through the cracked door.

 

“Severus, are you positive you won’t reconsider our suggestion?”

 

Minerva’s amused gaze met the others in the room. Severus reconsider something – not often.

 

“No. Ignatius has been asking me every other day the past week, and as I have informed him, I don’t think it’s possible. I’m willing to be on call whenever he needs me.”

 

A chuckle quietly ended as the first man’s voice sounded again. “He might need you at any time, night and day. Are you sure you wish to offer him that?”

 

“I’m used to it.”

 

The door opened, allowing a monk to enter ahead of Severus as Minerva knew would happen. Severus never did care for people behind him.

 

Brother Mark glanced about the room, amazed at the group within. There were more chairs than he remembered being in here. He looked over at Severus and noticed the man had stopped halfway across the space, his eyes coursing over the others. Looking back at the guests, he noticed that they were doing the same thing to Severus. A smile curled his lips as he realised just what they were doing - searching for injuries. _‘They care about each other.’_ He decided to wait a moment before speaking, giving them the time they needed. After what felt like a minute later, the largest member of the group stood up and crossed over to Severus. Stepping between them, Mark began speaking. “Before any interactions, I must inform you that Severus Snape is under the protection of our Lord as he called upon His mercy and was granted Sanctuary. Any action towards him that can cause harm, any words intended to injure will be reflected back upon those who initiated them.”

 

Severus shook his head slightly, a sharp edge to his tone, “They’re allowed harmful words for it _is_ part of the reason they’re here.”

 

Mark compressed his lips tightly together and then sighed. “As they were included in the invitation, harmful words will not be reflected.”

 

The big man waited until he moved to the corner – they weren’t going to leave Severus in here alone, even with the protection Sanctuary provided – to continue forward. Mark flinched when one of those large hands landed on Severus’ shoulder, but Severus didn’t even move or look worried.

 

“Yer okay. Yeh’ve made it through.”

 

“So did you, Hagrid. How’s your brother?” asked Severus.

 

A broad smile filled Hagrid’s face. “Grawp? He’s fine. Fought in the battle.”

 

Severus patted the man’s arm. “Thank him for me.”

 

“I’ll be doin’ so.” Hagrid gestured towards a seat. “He’ll be glad to have heard from yeh.”

 

“Thank you, Hagrid.” Severus moved towards the empty seat, one that Mark felt positive was designed just for the man. He wondered who transfigured it, as he had never seen it before. Severus’ focus snapped to who could only be a Healer. “Poppy, who was injured? The paper lists the dead, but not them.”

 

While Poppy began listing names, Mark studied the group. They were an eclectic mix. Some appeared to be barely scrubbed up and others looked very neat and pressed, add in the height differences and he wondered how this team worked together. They obviously did – it was in the air that surrounded them – the same one that surrounded him and the other Brothers at the Abbey. His attention was caught when Severus spoke again.

 

“What do the students have to say to me?”

 

The short man slid a stack of parchments towards Severus. “Ever since Mr Potter began telling everyone that you were truly on our side, the students began to pay attention to what truly happened, just as we have.”

 

Severus raised an eyebrow, his question clear to those who knew him.

 

One of the witches spoke up, “We noticed all the things you were trying hard not to show. If we had just paid attention...”

 

“You would’ve given me away, Minerva,” Severus twitched a small smile as she raised an eyebrow eerily similar to his. “Filius, the students noticed something?”

 

The small man nodded. “Mine did, I think Pomona’s did.” The witch with the flyaway hair nodded. Minerva jumped in. “So did the Gryffindors.” She turned to the heavy set wizard. “Horace?”

 

“Our house did as well, Severus.” Horace settled back in his seat, a smile tipping his lips. “They were very impressed actually. You can read what they said in the letters they sent.” He waved at the pile on the table.

 

“Severus,” Minerva stopped Severus from picking up the letters. “Albus wishes you to have a trial. He is insistent that you come stand it.”

 

Mark tensed. Severus didn’t need to do this.

 

“Albus does?” Severus leant back in his seat, putting more space between himself and the others. “Did he explain why I should?”

 

Minerva studied him for a moment. “The day after the Battle of Hogwarts, Albus told us just what he did. Not just us, but Mr Potter, Miss Granger, the Weasleys, Shacklebolt, and the rest. ” She jumped to her feet and began to stalk, her anger clearly not gone. “He told us about how he made you promise to kill him. How he made you promise to take care of the students. _Without our help!_ ” She spun about, her gaze attempting to pin Severus to his seat. “ _You_ could have asked. We _are_ trustworthy!”

 

Mark’s eyes widened and he gave up pretending not to be listening avidly to the conversation. The glare Severus shot her was so intense Mark was sure she would back up a step or two. Instead, Minerva leant forward, her arms akimbo.

 

In less than a second, Severus was on his feet, as he snarled, “Yes, you are trustworthy. So trustworthy that you would have given me away within a week!” His burning gaze shifted to the others before returning to her. “ _If_ I had asked, _if_ I had hinted, the Carrows would have known in minutes. Then the Dark Lord would have known in less than that.” He stormed away from Minerva only to turn about, his arms crossed over his chest. “I wasn’t there only to protect the children.” Even though the words were quiet, they penetrated the room. “I was there to protect each of you as well.”

 

“But who was there to protect you?” Minerva gave up waiting for an answer as Severus’ shoulders hunched up. “No one. You expected to die. You admitted it in the letter you sent me. You made no plans for resigning as Headmaster – you expected me to _acquire the title at the time of your demise_!”

 

Severus brushed her words away, “It seemed the best option at the time. What with Albus’ death, the way the students were being treated, and the rest.”

 

“Severus,” his name came out on a large sigh as the fight left her. “Albus should have told you. He told us that day, but you should have heard it from him, you should have known during this long school year.”

 

Severus crossed the room back towards her. “What should have I known?”  


“That he was dead before your spell hit him.”

 

Severus sank into his chair, his words pulled out of him a pain filled whispered. “What? No, I killed him.”

 

She shook her head. “Albus’ portrait swears he died from an ingested potion. Kingsley has been investigating this, pulling memories from everyone alive who was on that tower that night. The Death Eaters that were there think they’re memories will be used to incriminate you. His investigation has put together a case from Albus’ assertion.”

 

“It doesn’t matter, Minerva. I cast the spell – I _intended_ to kill him – whether he died before the spell hit him or not is a moot point.”

 

Vector shook her head. “No, it _is_ a big deal. Through the memories that you gave Potter and Albus’ portrait, we have proof that Albus ordered you to kill him. That in and of itself will lighten the punishment – you were following orders and we were at war. But if he died before your spell hit him, you cannot be tried for murder.”

 

Babbling grinned. “That was the worse thing they could get you for. The rest? You were just doing what everyone else was doing – keeping your head low and trying not to get hurt.”

 

“Not like everyone else, I have the Dark Mark on my arm identifying me as his follower.”

 

Filch spoke up from the corner where he was leaning “You had it last time and was cleared as a spy. Nothin’ changed from this time and the last. Students noticed, we noticed and we’re all ready to stand up and tell them that.”

 

Minerva placed a folded and sealed stack of parchments on top of the students letters. “This is from Kingsley, he asked me to give it to you.”

 

Mark moved forward the moment Severus reached for it.

 

Severus pulled his wand with one hand and waved the monk back with the other. “Don’t worry, I’ll check it out for anything harmful.”

 

Mark watched as the Potions Master showed that he was perfectly capable of casting wordless spells. The wand moved in a multitude of direction over the letter and finally rested on the bottom right corner. Just as suddenly as the wand appeared it vanished into Severus’ robes. One pale, thin hand reached for the letter only to stop.

 

“Go ahead and read it, Severus. It wouldn’t be you _not_ to make us wait.’ Minerva gave him a quick smile as she sat back to wait. The other professors had started their own conversations the moment Minerva had given him the letter.

 

Severus picked it up and gently broke the seal. Flipping open the folded sheets, he watched the others over the top of them and noticed that they all relaxed. Giving a mental shrug, he read through the letter, moving through the top five parchments quickly. The last one that made him stop. Only through sheer practice was he able to keep his face bland. There, in a letter attempting to convince him to come stand trial, was a _Royal Prerogative of Mercy_. A full, unconditional Pardon. The Great Seal was affixed. The magic was lacing the words. Kingsley, as Interim Minister, along with the signature of two witnesses – Arthur Weasley and a Mr Smith. All that was waiting was for him to accept it. Folding the parchments back together, he looked at the waiting faces.

 

“Anything we can help with?” Filius gestured towards the letter he was still holding, the question telling Severus he _looked_ as stunned as he felt.

 

“It basically says what you’ve been telling me.” Severus handed it to Minerva. “He just included some reasons for coming back to Britain to stand trial.”

 

Minerva took the letter from him and he leant back, hoping she could keep a bland face as well, or at least keep silent. If anyone could, it would be her – she had been Albus’ second hand for a reason. “Go ahead, read it.”

 

Severus waited until she started to turn his attention back to the others. “You’ve nothing you need to say to me? Nothing about this past year?”

 

Hagrid, who had obviously been rooting through his pockets, gave Severus a rock cake and a mug of tea similar to the ones everyone else was holding, the Thermos and bag still sitting next to his chair. “Thank yeh.”

 

Nods and mumbled thanks were seen and heard depending on the amount of effort being taken to ingest Hagrid’s offerings. Severus glanced back to see how Mark was faring when Minerva’s gasp jerked his attention back to her. A quick glare prevented her from explaining what surprised her. “I think he doesn’t want it spread about, so I’d appreciate it if it wasn’t mentioned.”

 

She returned it with a frown before folding the letter up and setting it on top of the parchment stack still on the table. “You’ll be coming then?”

 

“I’ll consider it.”

 

“I’ll tell Kingsley.”

 

§§§§§§

 

As soon as his guests left, Severus tracked down Brother John, eventually finding him in the courtyard. The Abbot searched his face and obviously found what he was looking for. Severus raised an eyebrow in question but then shook his head. He really didn’t care what Brother John figured out. “Can I go to St. Mary’s? I need to speak to Father McKinney.”

 

“Brother Mark said they wish you to stand trial, that the Interim Minister _himself_ is attempting to clear you.”

 

The Abbot’s tone rose at the end, but Severus didn’t know what the question was – that he knew Kingsley, or that _anyone_ was attempting to clear him. “Shacklebolt thinks he has a sound case.”

 

“And you wish to consult Father McKinney.” When Severus nodded slowly, Brother John forehead creased in thought before clearing. “Go, his ground is sanctified, don’t step off the churchyard, try to stay in the house, and come back as quick as you can.”

 

“Thank you,” Severus swept away, heading for the visitor’s floo. It took less than five minutes to be in Patrick’s place and to discover that his friend wasn’t there. Noting the time, he settled in one of the arm chairs to wait.

 

§§§§§§

 

Severus put down the book he had been reading when the door opened.

 

“Severus!” Patrick crossed the front room quickly, his surprise fading into joy. “What are you doing here?”

 

Standing from his seat, Severus returned Patrick’s smile. “Brother John allowed me to stop by. I have … something I wish to discuss with you.”

 

Patrick turned towards the kitchen. “Let’s get the kettle started and then I’ll be ready to listen.”

 

Severus followed him into the room, waiting for the priest to notice the meal cooking. It didn’t take him long, the scent of the rosemary and garlic pork chops filled the kitchen.

 

“I should have expected it.” Patrick touched the side of the kettle, noting it was warm, before turning the heat back up. “What else are we having for dinner?”

 

“Mash, peas, and carrots.” Severus warmed the teapot up just in time as the kettle started boiling. “Let’s get the tea brewing and then we can talk.”

 

Both quietly worked, falling into patterns developed over the last decade. Finally, they were settled at the kitchen table, a pile of potatoes near Severus and a tea cup at his elbow.

 

“The Hogwarts staff visited today.” Severus started peeling the potatoes.

 

Patrick pulled the peas over and began shelling them. “How did it go?”

 

The knife paused over the potato. “Well. Potter has been talking and amazingly enough, people have started paying attention. He, Granger, the _younger_ Weasleys, Lovegood, and Longbottom are coming next week.” Setting the knife down for moment, he pulled out Kingsley’s letter and pushed it across the table. “Albus wants me to stand trial. Minerva and the others think I should as well. Even the Order thinks I should.” He nodded to the folded parchments. “That is from Kingsley Shacklebolt.” A small smile curled his lips. “He is currently the Interim Minister.” He wondered if anyone else remembered that Kingsley was a Slytherin. Maybe Horace and the other Heads. “Read it and see what you think.”

 

Patrick finished pushing the peas out of their pod, wiped his hands, and then opened the letter. Severus had the peas and potatoes on the boil before Patrick found the Royal Prerogative of Mercy.

 

“Severus … I can’t believe it.” Patrick ran a finger over the Royal Prerogative of Mercy, barely touching the parchment. “This … this is …”

 

“Rare, yes. Non existent, practically.” Severus started chopping the carrots. “If I sign it, I am admitting guilt, but I am free of all punishment. Of course, I have to stand trial – that is how they work. If my case wins, the there is no need for it, but Kingsley prepared it just in case.”

 

Patrick set the folded parchments onto the table, leaving the Royal Prerogative of Mercy out between them. “Severus, you don’t understand what this is, do you?”

 

“It’s Kingsley’s attempt to bribe me back to stand trial.”

 

Patrick shook his head, his fingers hovering over the Great Seal. “It could be that, but it’s _so_ much more. It is a Royal Prerogative of Mercy – not one of those things handed out now-a-days in the Muggle World. No, this is an honest to goodness, old fashion, straight up Royal Prerogative. If you sign it, you’re in the clear – no trial needed. Kingsley had to get the Queen’s approval for this. He had to convince her you are innocent of all the things they are charging you with.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“You aren’t the only one who studies musty documents for fun.” Patrick leant back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest. “I’ve sorted Church documents and found a few of these – old ones like this, and a few of the newer style. The Great Seal is set here,” he leant back forward, pointing to the bottom left parchment, “when it’s the newer style. Yours has the Seal on the right – only the old styles have it there. The new ones have the Minister’s Seal and signature on the right, where you have the Great Seal.” Hazel eyes searched the parchment a moment longer. “And this has the older form of magic embedded in it, not the new spells.”

 

Severus’ spoon hovered over the peas, the butter in it melting in the steam and dripping into the pot. “Kingsley …. How did Kingsley do that? I didn’t even know they could be obtained.”

 

Laughing at being able to shock Severus, Patrick heaved himself to his feet and placed the letter on the counter. “Well, obviously they can. You are most likely right, he wanted you to know you’re safe even if you are convicted. His case sounds tight, but he is right to worry – the jury of your peers … aren’t going to be too friendly to you. To go, have everything put out there and accept the Royal Prerogative if all goes bad, just accept the Royal Prerogative, or to abjure and never be able to step into Britain again? That’s what you want to talk about, isn’t it?”

 

Severus nodded. “I know the moment I go back there’ll be people from both sides waiting to kill me. I won’t be protected by Sanctuary. I might not make it to the trial. You saw Patterson.”

 

Patrick sighed before setting the table. “I don’t know why he was that mad, but yes, I did see.”

 

“His family was killed by Death Eaters – I wasn’t there, but he obviously doesn’t care.” Severus shook his head and began mashing the potatoes. “I want to leave the Royal Prerogative with you.”

 

“What?” Patrick jerked his head up to stare at Severus’ back. “If you go back, you’re going to need it. You will have to show it to the court after your conviction.”

 

“If I go back, I want you to come. You can bring the Royal Prerogative with you.” Severus hazarded a look behind him, catching the flabbergasted expression on the priest’s face. “You’ve been asking for years to give some those people a piece of your mind, and now that it’s safe, I figured you could have a chance.”

 

Patrick laughed. “I think you should go. It would hurt you to be cut off from your friends over there. I still wish you’d move here, though.”

 

Moving the potatoes to the table, Severus smiled. “I think you’re right, on all accounts. Now, rescue the peas and carrots. The pork chops will be done in a minute.”

 

§§§§§§

 

Ignatius stared around trying to determine where he was needed the most. Children were crying or mutely staring, shock still covering their faces in the far corner. They huddled together on small cots that Brother Mark had transfigured. Some of their parents were there with them, but more than likely at least one of them was stretched out on a bed. The entire ward was crammed full of beds, there was barely a walkway between them. Ignatius wasn’t going to question how Brother Thomas had increased the space in the room, he only wondered how long it would last.

 

Brother Stephen was wrapping up a broken arm, Brother Andrew was testing the vision of another, and Severus was running potions from one monk to the next between periodically stopping to help cast a spell when he wasn’t working in the children’s section. Given Severus’ school reputation, Ignatius originally questioned him about helping in that section. That changed the moment he watched him. Severus cloaked himself in a quiet calm. Many of the other Brothers couldn’t handle seeing the injured children, Severus just bandaged them up and moved on. His bed side manner left a lot to be desired – you just don’t tell parents to ‘move now’, or explain exactly how the Skele-Gro potion worked – but his calmness kept the children steady.

 

Finding a place he was needed, he scanned the young woman with his eyes and wand to find out if she was hexed, physically injured, or both. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted one of the children stopped Severus.

 

“Where’s your apron?”

 

“In the Potions Lab.”

 

Severus’ raised eyebrow and smooth answer brought a tiny smile to Ignatius’ face as he cast the counter-hex. He mumbled a few words of encouragement to the woman before searching the room for his next patient. Severus’ eyes caught his over a child’s head, the question in them clear. It was the same as the one in his head and all other monks – Why? Why did the two sides have to clash now, a week after the referendum was signed, and almost all were in accord? Hoping the Muggles wouldn’t have to endure such an event, he crossed the room to Brother Clarence who was poking his head through the door.

 

“Brother?” It was very unusual to see Clarence outside of his kitchens, so his presence alone worried Ignatius.

 

Clarence’s voice was barely a whisper due to disuse. “Severus is needed in the visitor’s room.”

 

Ignatius’ eyes widened as despair rushed through him. Pushing away the overwhelming feeling, he remembered that today was the next group’s day to see Severus. “I’ll let him know.”

 

Clarence waved him away and step back outside of the door, letting in another child with deep gashes running up his arms and legs. His parent looked no better. The chunks of wood embedded in the wounds gave Ignatius a clue as to what they were partially successful in hiding behind.

 

“This way.” The Healer directed them over to Severus who was kneeling down to heal another child with similar cuts. “Severus.”

 

Severus waved the two new patients to the nearest empty bed. “I’ll get to them next. We might need to let the healed children go into the chapel or into the courtyard to make room.”

 

Without looking at Ignatius, Severus sang a melodious charm that calmed the child as it healed him. He moved on to the new patients before Ignatius could interrupt – not that he tried hard. Once those two were healed, he tapped Severus’ shoulder. “Your visitors are here.”

 

Dark eyes clashed with his, disbelief evident in them. “They are already here? Surely ...” The black wand moved in a quick slash and the time showed up in the air between them. “It is that late? We’ll have to tell them to come back.”

 

Ignatius shook his head. “We’ll be okay. We’ve done this without you before, we can keep up until you return.” He refused to admit that this was the worst attack he had witnessed since the War. The expression on Severus’ face showed that he was not believed anyway. “Go.”

 

Severus studied him before turning towards the door. “I’ll be back as quick as possible.”

 

Ignatius knew his relief was evident on his own face. “Brother Clarence is waiting for you outside the door.”

 

Severus slipped out the door and spotted the small, dark skinned monk almost hidden in the shadows. “I can go by myself.” He tipped his head towards the full Infirmary. “Brother Ignatius can use any help that is offered.”

 

Clarence cocked an eyebrow and pointed imperiously down the hallway.

 

Severus glanced back wanting to finish helping. The tap of a foot drew his attention back to the chef monk. The sympathetic, understanding expression filled the man’s face as he shook his head and pointed down the hall again. Compressing his lips together to hold back a scathing retort, Severus strode down the hall, his robes billowing out behind him, while Brother Clarence kept up with him.

 

They dodged the injured people making their way from the public floo to the Infirmary, though he wished to stop and help them, and soon made it to the door. Turning, he looked down into a face filled with resolve. He knew this monk did _not_ like interacting with people, he respected that as did the other monks here. “If you will be so kind as to bring some tea, I will be fine here.”

 

Eyes as black as his own narrowed and glared at him. The intensity of the words were not lessened by their almost silent delivery. “I _know_ my duty, Severus. I will _not_ allow you to enter this room without a monk with you. I will _not_ allow those people to talk to you without telling the rules of Sanctuary.” He opened the door before he turned back and said, “Besides, I’ve already served them tea and biscuits.”

 

Severus had to refrain from smiling at the man’s affronted tone. Clarence would have had the tea set up in the room ready to go if he read the monk right. He was precise when it came to his kitchen, and that precision obviously was practised elsewhere. Stepping through the door behind his escort, Severus scanned over the group gathered. _‘I’m glad I warned Brother John that the Weasley parents would most likely come as the youngest aren’t out from under their guardianship yet.’_ He meet Arthur’s questioning eyes, narrowed his own and nodded so slightly his hair didn’t even move. Arthur caught it though and a smile flashed across his face. Many discounted the paternal component of the Weasley family, but Severus knew better. His message was expected and received. During the silent conversation, Molly rushed across the room towards him.

 

“Severus, there were children out there, hurt children!” The worry surrounding her was palpable. “We can meet later, let us help.” The rest of the room surged to their feet, prepared to head out the door.

 

Severus started to speak, only to have Brother Clarence frown at him. Compressing his lips, he glared the room to silence. He didn’t have time for this, he had things he needed to be doing.

 

Clarence gave him an impressed look before turning to address the guests. “ _Sonorus.”_ A white wand was lowered. “I’m here to inform you that Severus Snape is under our Lord’s protection as Severus called upon His mercy and was granted Sanctuary. Any action towards him that can cause harm, any words intended to injure – unless agreed upon by Severus through your invitation – will be reflected back upon those who initiated them.” The wand reappeared briefly. “ _Quietus_.” Black eyes swept across them, his sincerity evident. He then poured a cup of tea and placed several sandwiches on a plate, looked from them to Severus, and moved off to a chair near the door.

 

“Honestly Severus, those children.” Molly moved forward again only to be blocked by Severus.

 

“Molly, they are being taken care of. Brother Ignatius and the other monks are working hard right now to heal them.” He growled impatiently as she took in his rumpled robes and exhausted face. “Yes, I was helping them, and I will return as soon as this meeting is finished.” He held up a hand to forestall the words he could springing to her lips. “The Brothers would be very uncomfortable with you helping, even if they’d appreciate the offer.”

 

Granger spoke up from where she was standing with Potter and Ronald Weasley. “What happened? The war has been over for nearly a month now.”

 

Severus could feel the soundless suffering sigh that Clarence projected. “The war against Voldemort is over, but over here there has been a longer war, one that is still being resolved. These victims were injured because one side protested the agreement that was reached last week.” He waited for a moment to see if any of the children knew what he was talking about. Their blank faces told him just how little History they were learning in Binns’ class. He had expected Granger to have a clue since she had to have heard of the Muggle side of the Troubles. “Surely you’ve heard of the war that has been occurring in Ireland? The IRA? Granger and Potter should have – you were raised by Muggles, in the Muggle school system.”

 

Granger blinked, “The Troubles? Surely that is a Muggle issue.”

 

“Miss Granger, how many Irish students were in your year?” Severus frowned as he waited.

 

“There was Seamus, but … I don’t know of any other.”

 

“That’s because there was no other. The Troubles is definitely affecting the Wizarding World as well. Most Irish students, even those raised in Northern Ireland, attend Elder Oaks in Galway.” Setting that aside, Severus pushed forwards. “I am expected back – so this, by necessity, will be quick but I do expect you to be thorough. In the order of the importance of the grievances, Mr George Weasley, you shall be first as I personally and physically harmed you. Then Mr Potter, along with Miss Granger and Mr Ronald Weasley. After those three, then Miss Weasley, Miss Lovegood, and Mr Longbottom.” He pinned George with his no nonsense, start talking now look.

 

George shook his head, causing the hair to move and show his missing ear. “Still a professor, eh, sir?”

 

Severus bit back a retort, knowing if he started it would take more time. Instead, he glared.

 

George sat up straighter, a bit of defiance marking his posture. “My grievance? I want to know, why did you cut off my ear? Why? What good did it do? How did that help our cause? I can see why you had to do everything else – either to maintain your cover or to help Harry, but _why my ear_ ? _Why with a spell that couldn’t be healed_?”

 

Severus felt Clarence’s glare digging into his back until he picked up his tea and took a sip. The glare lessened a little and he knew the monk was waiting on him to eat. No one had stopped to finish breakfast or for lunch and he was now captive to the cook’s desire. Looking at George over the rim of his cup, he considered what to say. Knowing honest was the best approach – that was why everyone was here – he placed the cup back on the table. “I missed.”

 

“You _missed_?” George’s hand flew up to the scarred flesh.

 

He looked the boy straight in the face and continued, trying to keep his irritation from showing. “I was aiming for the air next to your head – to make it look as if I had aimed badly and missed you. Unfortunately, you moved or my broom moved, I missed the Death Eater who was aiming for you and hit you instead. The results were almost the same – you’re alive, but instead of him being injured, you were.”

 

“Death Eater?”

 

Severus nodded once. “You most likely didn’t see the green flash of light pass you, you were distracted stopping your ear from bleeding. As for not being able to be healed, it could have been, but it requires a very specific enchantment.” His eyes darted to Potter and back again. Out of the corner of them, he saw the boy’s eyes widen. “It has been too long now to be useful, though. I do apologise.”

 

George sank into his seat as Molly drew in a shuddered breath, obviously fighting herself to stay where she was. Switching his attention to the Potter, Granger, and his Weasley, he waved his hand towards the one who angered him often. “Mr Potter, your turn. You can say anything you wish with no fear of repercussion.”

 

Green eyes studied him – the fear and blatant hatred missing. Severus forced himself to relax, to not let anything said anger him.

 

“After the memories and knowing just who you were, I think I understand why things had to be the way they were between us.” Potter stepped forward, his hands clenched at his side. “I don’t like it though, sir. There were so many missed opportunities. Things could have been very different if circumstances allowed.”

 

Severus nodded slowly, still wary of an attack.

 

“I had people who could and would tell me of my Dad, and they even had some tale of my Mum, but everything they could say about her was after she came to Hogwarts, and most of them were after she started going out with Dad, not before. If things had been different, would’ve you told me of her?”

 

Searching the wary expression on Potter’s face brought Severus to a decision. He would propose it later though. “I would have.”

 

“Thanks,” Potter looked back at Ronald and Granger before returning his attention to Severus. Pulling a familiar softly glowing vial from his robe, he slid onto the table between them. “Yours.”

 

Severus contemplated it for a moment. If he took them now, there wouldn’t be any reason for the boy to come see him later. It would destroy his chance of giving the boy what he wanted. “Return them later. There might be a use for them in the upcoming days, and it would be better if they weren’t in my possession.”

 

He could see Clarence’s face brimming with curiosity and wondered if he should explain to the monk, but dismissed the thought. Potter’s eyes showed he understood and that is what mattered. The boy put the vial back in his robe as he asked his next questions.

 

“Did you really hate us? Did you really only see me as a copy of my father?”

 

Severus let the questions hang in the air between them as he rested a contemplative look on Potter. “Ha-a-ate?” His eyes briefly narrowed before he shook his head. “ No, I didn’t _hate_ you. You were not the _best_ of students – trouble sought a willing companion and you were it. You disliked rules, you couldn’t handle boundaries put into place for yours and others’ protection, you succeeded in pulling others into your little, and not so little, adventures, but I did _not_ hate you.”

 

He paused to drink his tea while his words sank in. The cup clinked on the saucer as he pinned Potter to the floor with a glare. “But I did not like you, either. It is hard to like a student who actively works against you – who does what they can to make you have a bad day. One who _attacks_ you when you are attempting to save them, leaving you stunned and at the mercy of the enemy.

 

“My feelings for you are not because of your father. I know all to well one should never visit the crimes of the father upon the child. I don’t hate you father any more – I forgave him a long time ago. Him and the other Marauders for those actions.”

 

He refilled his tea and contemplated the sandwiches before picking out a ham one. “Most of what you saw was an act, one that I needed to play. Black helped, unwittingly I am positive, but nonetheless, he did. His outrage was real as was mine at the time – I have never cared for him.”

 

He finished his sandwich, once again giving them time to think. “Did I see you as a copy of your father?” He smirked. “No, you are yourself, Potter, always have been and always will be. Don’t let what others say change you or make you believe differently.” He pinned his ‘I’m disappointed in you’ look on the boy. “That is what you _should_ have learned. How can you be a man you cannot even remember? If anything, you would be like your Uncle – not that I would wish that upon you.

 

“I may not like you, but I can respect what you have accomplished. If you can learn to curb your more … Gryffindor like tendencies, there is a chance we can work out a relationship based on mutual respect. Where it goes from here will be left in His hands.”

 

He waited a good number of heartbeats for Potter to continue, but the silence stretched on. He looked at the other two. “Do either of you have anything you need to ask or say?”

 

Ronald shifted forward to stand next to Potter. “It was you who gave us Gryffindor’s Sword?” The question was more of a statement, but Severus nodded anyway. “Then thank you. You … you saved us.”

 

Granger nodded when his eyes settle on her. “Nothing else?”

 

They shook their heads. Moving on, he rested his gaze on Miss Weasley and raised an eyebrow.

 

She started after looking at Lovegood and Longbottom. “Last year … it was tough. It was ugly. People were hurt, children who trusted you, who hoped that you would do your job as Headmaster. You didn’t though – you allowed those children to be hurt. _You stood by and did nothing! You’re as guilty as them!_ ”

 

Her shout reverberated around the silent, too-still room.

 

Anger ricocheted through Severus. He sat his cup down as he fought to lock it behind the icy facade that he had worn all year and looked at the other two leaders of the DA waiting to see if they would add anything. The silence continued their eyes all locked on him, as if waiting for his response.

 

Frozen anger was expressed not only in his tone but in the rigidly formal words. “You are right, I did not act as a Headmaster should have. Realise though, that with the brush paint me, you also paint every other adult in that school who stood by and did nothing.”

  
“They couldn’t. They’d lose their job if they did!” Longbottom growled.

 

Severus shook his head slowly a frown forming even as his anger mitigated into a more manageable level. “No, Mr Longbottom, they and I would’ve lost more. We would’ve lost our lives, and then we would’ve lost yours and your friends. Voldemort wanted the school to be run in a manner that trained all the students to be the citizens he wanted. Anyone in his way typically wound up dead. It was touch and go if I would be given the school to run even with Albus’ plan to make me look better in the Dark Lord’s eyes. I was able to convince him that the parents would accept a professor with years of experience in the position better. Then I spent most of the summer subtly convincing him to keep the remaining professors – that they were the best in their field. He finally agreed but did … create … a job opening so he could send both the Carrows.”

 

Lovegood rested a hand on Longbottom’s arm. “The others -”

 

“Severus!”

 

Spinning about, Severus stared at the out of breath Patrick. He spotted Clarence jumping to his feet out of the corner of his eye. “What happened?”

 

Hazel eyes quickly scanned the room before widening at the sight of Brother Clarence. Shifting back to Severus, Patrick answered. “It’s Mara. Simon told me two minutes ago that she feels like she is on fire. She hasn’t felt like that since -”

 

“Fire? How long? What day’s it?” Black eyes blanked as Severus tried to answer his own question, they then widened. “It has been three days, hasn’t it? Is her skin reddening? Is it on her chest? Her face?”

 

“Not on her face that I’ve seen, I haven’t seen her chest though it is not near her neck or shoulders.” Patrick shot the guests an assessing look. “It has been three days. Simon said she insisted they not bother you because that you had enough on your plate.”

 

A low growl escaped Severus and he strode to Patrick. “Your hand,” the words were bitten out in a way his former students all froze. Patrick just held out his right hand.

 

“This one?”

 

“Yes.” Severus touched his glowing wand tip to each finger tip before swirling it about ending in the centre of his palm. His wand vanished into his robe and a quill and a parchment scrap took its place. “Go to my lab, touch the door with that hand – it will let you in – and get everything on this list.” He continued scribbling for a moment more before waving the ink dry and shoved it into Patrick’s hand. “It’ll take me next to no time to have the potion ready. Hurry!”

 

“I’ll be back as quick as possible.”

 

Severus turned back to the group as Patrick bolted out the door, his frown forestalling the questions he could see on their faces. “Continue, Miss Lovegood.”

 

Luna looked between the gaping open door and him. “The other instructors, they did subtle things to help us. But you ...”

 

Miss Weasley’s whole face transformed as a realisation hit her. “You did too. You assigned me detention with Hagrid, in the Forest. Any other student you assigned detention to, they were real detentions – not torture.”

 

Severus inclined his head. “Just as the other professors did. We did our best to keep you alive for the year.” He waited several moments, his gaze drifting over the group of former students, inviting them to speak up. When all that reigned was an uncomfortable silence, he raised an eyebrow. “Surely you have more to say? Names to call me, curses to give voice to? I am giving you complete liberty to voice your ire.”

 

George chuckled. “It’s him.” He nodded towards Clarence. “Can’t really start in with the name calling while he’s in here.”

 

Without looking at the monk, Severus spoke, “If you would leave us, Brother Clarence, I wish them to be able to feel vindicated.”

 

The absolute silence behind him caused him to turn and look. The small man sat with his arms crossed and a stubborn set of his shoulders, but a smile filled his face.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Professor, we’ve nothing else to add. You aren’t being a git right now.” George leant back in his seat, avoiding the glare sent his way from Clarence.

 

Refilling his tea cup, he offered a refill to Molly. “Do you or Arthur have something to add?”

 

“Mara?” Molly gestured to another sandwich, joining in with Clarence on getting him to eat. “Who’s she?”

 

Severus frowned, wondering what to say. He knew that Molly would do everything to worm the information out of him, and though he knew he could stop her from learning, he wasn’t sure if it was worth the effort. “Mara Kirwan was injured during the war against Grindelwald. The Cremate Curse typically incinerates it victim in a week. There is no known counter-curse, but there are ones that help to mitigate the burning – making it last decades, progressively getting worse the longer you use the counter-curse. The potion I make for her removes the pain, the feeling of the flames, and slows down the burning even more. Unfortunately, it cannot stop or correct the damage created by the curse.”

 

Arthur perked up. “How long have you been making it for her?”

 

Severus wondered where this was going – Ronald got his ability to strategise from this man. “Since nineteen eighty-two.”

 

“Is there anyone else you’ve helped like this – someone not associated with Vold.... Voldemort or the Order?”

 

Severus barely refrained from shrugging. “Different people, but I don’t keep a record. It’s a way to indulge my interest in the Dark Arts and use them for good. Mara’s different, she’s my neighbour and she needs the same potion every year.”

 

“You use the Dark Arts to help people?” Longbottom sounded like he couldn’t believe it.

 

“I find ways to cure the results of the practising of the Dark Arts. To do so, one must understand the Dark Art that caused the injury.” Severus spun about as the door opened again.

 

“Here,” Patrick pushed a cauldron filled with a multitude of bottles and packets into his hands. “Simon is wringing his hands.”

 

Severus turned back to his guests. “Thank you for coming, I hope I have satisfied your curiosity and eased you minds and hearts.” He turned to Patrick. “Father McKinney, can you please escort them out so Brother Clarence can help Brother Ignatius, and then stay, I’ll have Mara’s potion ready in less than thirty minutes.”

 

Patrick moved out of the doorway. “Of course.”

 

With that Severus rushed out, heading for the Potions Lab. Clarence wasn’t far behind him, so he knew Ignatius would know where he was.

 

§§§§§§

 

 

Patrick looked over the gathered group, his smile filling his face. “I finally get to see all of you.” He frowned slightly but then smiled again. “Well, most of you, the elders appear to be missing. Let’s see if I can name you.”

 

Ginny rolled her eyes and sighed. “Of course you can, you’ve had to have seen our pictures in the papers.”

 

Patrick shook his head. “They aren’t that good, though Mr Potter is recognisable from them.” He nodded towards Potter before directing his attention back to the others. “You, young lady, must be Ginevra, and of course the tall gentleman there is Ronald with Hermione Granger at his side.” He turned slightly towards the other three redheads. “How is your head, George? Severus was very worried how having a dark curse wound on the side of it would affect you.” The young man’s eyes widened, his jaw slacking slightly. “Seems like you are doing okay though.” He shifted slightly and beamed at the adults. “Molly and Arthur Weasley. It _is_ wonderful to see you, and I have to agree with Severus – Molly, you look to be a younger Mara. I wonder if there’s a relationship?”

 

He turned to the only two not named. “You must be Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. Miss Lovegood, it gladdens my heart to see you well. When Severus mentioned you weren’t at school for the second term, the whole parish began praying for you even more.”

 

Shaking his head and drawing as deep of breath as he could, Patrick knew he had to stop – he was skirting too close to the Seal.

 

“Severus was worried about us?” Molly recovered from her surprise faster than the others, and searched his face as if looking for the truth. “How do you know?”

 

Patrick smiled as he ushered them towards the door. “I’ve had breakfast almost once a week with the man for sixteen years, with the exception of this past school year – then it was closer to once a month. Things come up.”

 

Leaving it at that, he walked ahead of them, showing them to the visitor floo and offered them the bowl that held the powder. “It has slowed down so you can leave this way. Travel safely, and God bless you and yours.”

 

After the last one flooed away, he headed for the Infirmary.

 


	5. On Albus' Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was taught that there were two topics to always avoid in polite conversation - politics and religion. This tale covered both, so I thank you all for accepting me being not so polite. 
> 
> Once again, thanks to SuNoYu for making sure this one was understandable. 
> 
> If the end is missing anything you think should have been answered, feel free to ask and I will do my best to tell you. Thanks for reading!

"You're going to accept the trial?" Brother John's question wasn't truly that, but he wanted to hear the answer one more time.

Severus looked him straight in the eye. "Yes, I am. Albus insists that I will be fine. Minerva trusts him as do I."

The Abbot shook his head, his eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't trust the people over there. They want you. They're out for your blood, Severus! You could be hurt before you even make it to the courtroom."

"The Minister suggested that I floo directly into the Auror Department or his office." Severus refrained from mentioning that Kingsley was more partial to his office.

"Not enough for me. That Auror would have hurt you the other day." His grey habit brushed against his feet as he paced his office. "Sanctuary – it protects you." He stopped to look at the younger man. "You have twelve more days under it. Surely there has to be a way to take that protection with you."

"Father McKinney is planning on travelling with me, maybe that will afford some protection?" Severus leant against the wall, his eyes tracking the Abbot's path around the office, while anticipation hummed just below the surface. Danger was a well-known friend, one he didn't fear seeing again. Not when the results could mean freedom to chose his own danger. _'It's just Patrick. Keeping an eye on him.'_

"He is?" John stopped, contemplating the cross in the corner of his room. "It is slightly out of context, but it might work. There will be very few that will contest the use, and if we believe it then I cannot see how it can go wrong, especially if they carry the Blessed Sacrament with them."

"They?" The barest brush of fear tensed his back. He didn't need more people to watch.

"Yes, Father McKinney, of course, and Brother Ignatius – they will both have to be witnesses about what occurred here the evening you arrived. We just need one more. Who else could come with you?" He studied the still man who was patiently waiting to hear what he was planning. That patience spoke of too many years of waiting out someone. "I think Brother Clarence. He has taken a shine to you, enjoys how much you can converse with expressions." He was still waiting to be asked what the plan was, but soon realised that Severus wasn't going to ask. "God will be present if two or more gather in his name, also, the Blessed Sacrament is God … and where God is the ground is sacred until he leaves or it is blessed."

The small smile curving Severus' lips let Brother John know that he understood where this was going. "I'll let the Brothers and Father McKinney know what to expect. You shall be leaving tomorrow?"

"Shacklebolt is supposed to let me know tonight which floo to enter."

Brother John waved towards his personal floo. "Use it to call him."

§§§§§§

Severus watched as the two monks and one priest stepped through the Abbot's floo before going through himself. Brushing the remnants of soot from his black robes, he stopped in the middle of the triangle his three escorts formed. Kingsley waited, trying to mask his curiosity.

"Kingsley," he greeted the Minister suppressing the smile as the two monks started at him using the man's first name. "This is Father McKinney," he gestured to his right, "this is Brother Ignatius," he gestured to his left, "and this is Brother Clarence," he gestured behind him.

Kingsley nodded to each of them before addressing Severus. "Your wand, please, " he held out his hand for it. "You know they'll confiscate it if you have it on you."

Severus handed his wand to Patrick, who tucked it somewhere in his habit. "Anything else?"

"Any potions?"

"Not today."

"Then let's get this over with." Kingsley stopped with his hand on the door-handle, and turned sharply, catching Severus and the monks stopping quickly. "Do you have the parchment I sent you just in case?"

Severus waved his hand towards Patrick. "Father McKinney is carrying it."

Surprise covered Kingsley's face followed by an assessing look, one attempting to determine just who Patrick was.

The fact that Patrick was smothering a laugh brought a smile to Severus' face. "Shall we?"

Kingsley shook his head and led the way to the courtroom. They stopped just outside when the Aurors demanded Severus wand.

"I'm not carrying my wand." Severus tensed and prepared to dodge as fury lined their faces and their hands clenched their wands. He was glad as Ignatius and Patrick moved closer – it would be easier to get them out of the line of fire.

Kingsley gestured to the Aurors to open the door, his frown causing them to back down. He followed Severus and his escort in, and then strode across the room to take his position up in the risers. Severus moved to the section of the floor near the chair with chains hanging off of it.

The Auror stationed near it frowned at the Patrick and the other two, but glowered at Severus. "In the chair."

Kingsley called out from the stands. "Snape doesn't need to sit there. He shall remain standing throughout the trial. Father McKinney, I believe you are to address us?"

All eyes focused on Patrick as he stepped forward, his hands clasped under his scapular and his face serious. "Severus Snape, Potions Master, stands before you today under the protection of Sanctuary granted to him when he called upon our Lord for his aid. Any action towards him that can cause harm, any words intended to injure will be reflected back upon those who initiated them. True evidence, though it may cause harm to him, is an exception as Severus has agreed to this trial."

He stepped back into his place in the triangle around Severus as one of the Wizengamot stood. "Sanctuary is _not_ accepted for _scum_..." His mouth snapped shut and the word scum hovered in the air before him.

Owen Marsh, the Chief Warlock, spoke in the resulting silence. "Sanctuary is obviously working. We shall start the trial." He gave a significant look to Percy Weasley who was acting as scribe, before turning his attention to Severus. "Severus Snape, you are called here today accused of the conspiring of and the murder of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and Chief Warlock, as well as for being a Death Eater."

As the last word was spoken, a glow suffused the air around the podium before him, and then settled on the book of law sitting in the middle of it. Marsh backed away as the book opened, pages flipped, and the glow settled on a passage. An unknown voice sounded throughout the room.

" _The Chief Warlock, in times of need or uncertainty, can create an Order whose members are bound to uphold its charter through any means possible. These members, when brought before the Wizengamot for deeds performed for the Order, cannot be charged or convicted of the offence."_

Severus stared at the book, shock coursing through him. He quickly glanced at Kingsley and then shifted his attention to others he knew were members of the Order. They were quickly hiding their surprise as well. The glow lifted off the book only to flow across the room and settle on another book, this one nondescript and untitled until the glow touched it. Floating until it hovered before the entire Wizengamot, the image of a phoenix in flight blossomed across the leather and about it, burning in glowing gold letters, were the words _'The Order of the Phoenix'_.

The assembled wizards gasped, their purple robes rustling as they attempted to see the book closer. Behind him, Severus heard the rustle of cloth and a book being opened. Tearing his eyes away from the glowing book, he glanced back. Brother Clarence had opened his breviary and was beginning his midday prayers. The normalcy of this calmed the unsettled feeling crawling up Severus' spine. He saw the other two members of his escort hide smiles at Brother Clarence's actions. Ignatius met Patrick's eyes and then pulled out his own breviary. Patrick and Severus returned their attention to the glowing book.

"Dumbledore really did have his own army."

"Fudge was right."

"That Order really existed?"

Severus ignored the words coming from the benches, focussing on the now open book. The glow touched the first page and Albus' voice filled the room.

" _Today, on the fifth day of April in the year of nineteen hundred and seventy, The Order of the Phoenix was created by Chief Warlock Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore to defend our nation against the insidious terror wrought by those who oppose the freedom and rights of all Wizards and Witches of the realm, be they pure-blood, half-blood, or muggleborn."_

There were more words on the page, but the glow didn't touch them, instead the page flipped showing the next one to be partially filled with names.

" _Members of the Order of the Phoenix shall only be revealed upon their death or trial for deeds committed to uphold the mandates of the Order. If the member is revealed through trial, the deeds of which they are accused of that were committed to uphold the mandates will be listed under their name."_

There was a pause before the light skipped to the last name on the list.

" _Severus Snape – conspired with Albus Dumbledore for the death of Albus Dumbledore, Attempted homicide of Albus Dumbledore"_

There was a pause as most of the Wizengamot stared at the book before one shot to their feet. "Attempted? Snape killed him! Potter reported it as so."

A shadow moved from a dark section of the wall and approached the Chief Warlock. "I am Unspeakable Smith. I have evidence that Severus Snape did _not_ kill Albus Dumbledore. There was a break in the chain of causation. Yes, there is no doubt that the spell Snape used would have caused the death of Albus Dumbledore, but he died before it hit him from a poison ingested earlier that evening. The poison broke the chain. Snape's attack still cannot be charged against him as he attacked Dumbledore during a battle fought during a rebellion; therefore, the school was not under the Queen's peace."

The entire room paused as the words sank in. Finally, someone spoke up. "But he can be charged for activities that occurred outside of battles like attacking people in their homes, brewing illegal potions, torturing school children."

Marsh looked at all the people there. "Do we have any evidence that Severus Snape brewed illegal potions? That he participated in the raids on homes?"

The room was silent, even the book. "We cannot convict without evidence."

"He had to brew potions that You-Know-Who and his followers used!"

Albus' voice sounded through the room as the book glowed again _. "Multitude of potions brewed for Voldemort and administered."_

A low growl sounded from the bench. "He cannot get out of the fact he tortured school children in his care."

The room waited for the book to speak, but nothing was said.

The broad-faced man leant against the divider wall. "We have you on that one, Snape."

"Your evidence?" asked Unspeakable Smith.

"Children were put into chains! They had the Torture Curse cast on them!" His hands were flung into the air as he spoke, emphasising his words.

"But were those done by Snape?"

"He was the Headmaster, so he is responsible for the actions of those he hired." The wizard waited, obviously gloating.

As the Unspeakable paused, Patrick nudged and frowned at Severus. Marsh focused on him. "You have something to say?"

"Severus has to tell you, I can't." Patrick demanding look rested on Severus.

Severus refrained from glaring at Patrick as he did what the priest wanted. "I didn't hire the Carrows and they were the ones responsible for torturing the students. Like Dolores Umbridge, they were placed in the school by the Ministry, and just like Dumbledore, I couldn't stop their actions. I did my best to mitigate their behaviour, but unlike Dumbledore, I couldn't afford to leave the school as I was also shielding the professors from Voldemort's scrutiny."

The woman sitting next to the broad face man spoke up. "You make it sound like Umbridge was torturing the students as well."

Severus forced himself not to fold his arms across his chest. He kept his posture relaxed, just as he would before Voldemort. "What else do you call forcing students to use a _blood quill to write lines_? She also used Veritaserum on students without parental consent. Just as the Carrows used students against students, she did as well. There was nothing we could do as she was placed in the school by the Ministry. There was nothing we could do about the Carrows as they were placed in the school by the Ministry. The professors did their best not to let the students be disciplined by those two, and I made sure to overlook them breaking that rule."

"She did _what_?" Marsh growled out before shaking his head. "This trial isn't about that. So, you could not control their actions, and you didn't personally torture students."

"He was cruel, caustic, and abrasive!"

The Unspeakable spoke up again, "Which is not a crime."

"Treason! He was part of the group that was attempting to overthrow our government."

" _Spy."_ The word hung in the air just like the book that spoke it.

"So, we have no crime to accuse Severus Snape of committing." Marsh ignited the case parchment. "Severus Snape, you are free, and the Wizengamot thanks you for your service to the British Wizarding World."

The book closed, its cover once again nondescript, and settled back onto its shelf.

A smattering of applause sounded through the room and the Aurors opened the door. The press rushed out first. Severus looked at his escorts, and couldn't help the smile as Clarence and Ignatius put their breviaries away. Walking out, still within the triangle, the reporters crowded in on them, blocking their path. Moving in a way to keep them from getting close to Brother Clarence, Severus glared at them.

"Professor Snape, what are you going to doing now that you are freed?"

"Are you surprised at the verdict?"

"How do you think the people are going to react?"

"Where are you going now?"

Severus almost started at the small monk pushed his way around him. Clarence tapped his wand to his throat.

" _Sonorus._ " Brother Clarence shot a quizzical look at the people clustered around them, one Severus was positive was manufactured. "What's with all these questions? What's it matter if he's surprised? Shouldn't he be surprised? Everyone else was. Why should he care about how people are going to react? God granted people free will – they're going to react as they want, it doesn't matter if you care or not. And just how's he supposed to have plans now that he's free? He was just informed about it. As to where's he going?" He stepped forward causing the reporter to fall back a step. "With us. Now, move out of our way – I have to get back to the kitchen and make dinner, Brother Ignatius needs to rescue his Infirmary from Brother Stephens, Father here has to get back to his parish, and Severus has potions he needs to brew."

The stunned group actually let them pass and Kingsley struggled through to catch up with them. When they entered the office, the Minister smiled.

"That went better than I thought. Keep the parchment I sent, just in case someone decides to ignore today's ruling." Black eyes searched Severus' face. "I don't suppose I could come visit periodically?"

"The British Minster of Magic visiting a small Wizarding village in Ireland?" Severus raised an eyebrow showing what he thought of that idea.

Kingsley sighed and offered his hand. "Then come visit us – I would truly like to get to know you better."

Severus accepted his hand, shaking it as he answered. "If we can arrange it."

Kingsley waved them towards the floo. "Travel safely."

§§§§§§

Severus had been sitting on his doorstep watching the people pass by for the last ten minutes, and another quick glance down the street showed no Potter. Biting back a sigh, he heaved himself up to his feet, ignoring the tired ache in his back and feet. Last night had been a long night of brewing and all he wanted was his bed. Forcing himself to move into the gardens instead of the house, he half-heartedly collected potion ingredients as he waited.

The last year had been interesting and fairly restful. His apothecary was doing well enough to support him and allow him to donate time and potions to the Abbey whenever Ignatius asked. His summer patrons becoming year round ones and the Elder Oaks School had asked him to brew for their Infirmary. Poppy sent him requests periodically for more complicated potions, ones she used to ask St Mungo's for, now that he had time to brew them. One of those had kept him up last night, and Poppy should have received it by now.

Running a tired hand over his face, he glared down the street. He would give Potter ten more minutes and then he was locking the door and sleeping.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before he moved to the garden patch closest to the street, and sent a quick glare at the O'Mallery boy who was tossing rocks. The kid took off, reminding him of the students at Hogwarts scattering before the same look. A smirk crossed his face. Minerva had tried to convince him to come back since Horace wanted to return to his retirement, but he refused. He had gone back to help rebuild the school – it was his responsibility when the damage happened – but he was ready to leave that life behind. Kingsley stopped by regularly, and on one of the visits told him and Minerva about the Order of the Phoenix book. It seemed as if the book also kept records of deeds done that were worthy of receiving recognition. They didn't show up until the person's name was revealed, but once that happened a page in the book was devoted to the deeds of the person. The Minister asked if he wanted to be considered for an Order of Merlin First Class based off of what his section said. He refused when he learned his deeds would become public knowledge if he did. There were several things he didn't want to be known.

With one last look down the street, he spotted Potter hurrying towards his house. Standing straight, he glared at the boy. A small curl of pride wrapped his heart as he watched the other villagers wave at the Saviour of the Wizarding World, but nothing else. Potter had shown up two weeks after his trial – he sent directions to Minerva with permission to pass them on to the boy. Potter had returned the memories, and started a stilted conversation about Lily. Severus invited him back to see pictures of her and the boy's grandparents. On the way out, the villagers started fawning over Potter. Scowling, he had sent Potter on his way and then _discussed_ things with them. Potter felt comfortable walking through the streets now-a-days. People treated him like a normal person.

"Snape!" Potter stopped and stared at him, taking him the pale, drawn face and rigid shoulders. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Fine, Potter," he growled out lightly, "just tired. Let's get this lesson over with."

It had been a surprise three months ago when the boy asked him for them. That day Potter had been discussing Auror training and complained about something the trainer said that went against what he remembered from his sixth-year potions book. Severus had cleared up the two different, but valid, interpretations. At that moment Potter asked for lessons, not from Professor Snape, but from the Half-blood Prince. He was still amazed that he agreed.

Gesturing towards the house, he carried his harvest in. "Try not to blow up my lab today, or I will _not_ be responsible for my actions."

Potter flashed a smile his way. "Yes, sir."

Shutting the door behind them, he knew he would have to catch a nap when Potter left. Minerva and Filius were coming for tea later, and then he was due at Patrick's for dinner.


End file.
